


Strictly Professional

by Professoresza



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cheeky, Cheesy, Determined Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Federal Bureau of Investigation, I've gone too far, Jealousy, Maybe indulgent, Mutual Pining, Possible Threesome, Post-Recall eventually, Pre-Recall, Pre-Recall detailed attempting to be lore-friendly, Redemption, Slow Burn, Started on a dare, Voice Kink, but it really is just a redeemer path, going from badboy to cowboy, ok i'm trying, slowest of burns, sometimes adorable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9222734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professoresza/pseuds/Professoresza
Summary: You're a lawman and you've got a strict code of conduct that doesn't quite match up with your new mark. A chance encounter on a case flips your life on its head and your first question is: who's this cowboy in your sights?





	1. The Nature of the Job

**Author's Note:**

> Did a lot of research (I swear, ok not really--but I did my best qq) and I realized that in order to fit this whole thing in a comfortable age, I had to tweak McCree's entry age into Blackwatch... so... bare with me. 
> 
> Also, first chapter really is a slow slow burn. Sorry QQ  
> A lot of OC/You-the-reader exposition.

**December**

 

“Is there anything sand won’t get into?” You grumble quietly as you shifted from elbow to elbow, settling back into the dust with your eye gently pressed against the scope of your rifle. From the other end of the communicator, your partner chuckles heartily—its arrogant echo only audible to you.

“You know…” He began, his tone evident of a smirk.

“Hell, don’t get me started, Rex.” You mumbled flatly, gaze unflinching even if it took every ounce of determination to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“It was _you_ who convinced Jacobs with that anal-as-fuck report that the Deadlock’s operations were going to be here.” He finished with resounding satisfaction, “You knew they’d be here, said you were damn sure… So now, Jacobs has _your_ ass—and consequently, _my_ ass—here in the middle-of-goddamn-nowhere New Mexico, freezing, and watching tumbleweed go by.”

“Well, I had evidence, hard evidence” You clicked your tongue ever so gently, “and I don’t mind stake-outs… just wish we could watch from a vehicle like regular cops on the beat. Where I can fucking eat.”

“Maybe if you were working the beat like a regular, agent.” Rex remarked, though his tone became more gentle.

“Don’t get me started,” It was your turn to smile, “Why the fuck are we doing this again?”

“Because you said you wanted to be a suit.”

“A professional.” You nodded slowly to yourself.

“Well, now you can be a professional on the fucking sand.” Rex chuckled, the rustling of his mic indicating he was shaking his head with mirth.

“Hey, helped you get laid—and married, you bitch. Why are you making a lady do this, by the way? Your wife would have you by the balls. I should be sitting in the trailer and you be the lookout.” You couldn’t help but shuffle slightly as laughter reached your shoulders. Luckily your sights were still empty of real action.

“Hey, hey, first of all, I’m better with logistics and you’re the better shot.” The compliment was nice. You shook your head—after all, you haven’t really seen anything but metal trailers in the depot ahead of you—and not a sign of movement besides the wind picking up dust.

“We’re not even supposed to shoot shit. Not yet anyway.” You paused, stiffening as your periphery caught movement, shadows lurking along the trailers ahead and their movements apparent under the yawning moonlight. “Hold… you tracking anything? I’ve got movement.”

Rex seemed to snap to attention as well, a creak of wood reverberating in your ear along with a tap of keys, “Ah yeah, sec… actually, picking up a bit of electrical disturbance too. Hold on… Vehicle incoming.”  
  
“I hear it.” You lift your head slightly, opening your other eye to follow the noise of an oncoming car from the west. You were hidden away on a mesa overlooking the gorge, luckily your shadow was caught by the neighboring cliffs—nothing to give your position away from the ravine. This, unfortunately, made it difficult to make out the vehicle that passed right under you.

It wasn’t until you realized that the vehicle stopped just out of your line of sight that people were talking as they exited from their ride. Unfortunately, you were too far to hear anything clear, but one of them definitely had a drawl of sorts.

Only moments later, you had visual. There were six men making their way towards the depot and from the shadows of the trailers were another half dozen. Your head lowers as you push your eye against your rifle’s scope once more, watching the exchange. Your attention is drawn to the markings on some of their jackets, leather and the winged skulls emblazoned against the arms.

“Bingo,” You smirked.

“Deadlock?” Rex inquired.

“Affirmative.” You continued to watch the scene play out through your scope, your breathing going quite still as you focus all your attention to discerning what the crew was possibly talking about. One of the men stood out to you, not just by height alone, but how he was dressed considerably unique from the other gang members. The man looked straight out of a Montana ranch, from a cowboy hat to the chaps n’ spurs. He was turned to the side and you could make out the scruff on his jaw from under the shadow of his hat. His expression looked less than pleased.  
  
You lowered your rifle, quickly going for the camera resting on your back. Luckily, it didn’t seem to catch too must dust and sand. You snapped a few shots, something to confirm your suspicions to your superiors—can’t walk away empty handed after all.

“Cassidy,” Rex’s tone now strictly professional, and when he was calling you by your last name—you knew to snap to attention.

“I read you loud and clear.” You murmured as you slowly crawled backwards from the lip of the mesa.

“Something’s starting to jam the signal on my radars. I think that’s a sign to pack it in—won’t take long for whoever’s got the jammer to lock in on my position.”

“Copy that, heading back now.” You glanced once more to the scene over your shoulder before retreating.

Without incident, you made it back to the inconspicuously dirty RV trailer parked a few klicks from your stakeout. Even if you carried light, having to dodge light and do so quickly ran you ragged by the time you reached the door. Before your hand could even hit the frame of the threshold, it swung open—your partner’s head peeking through as he scanned the area behind you.

“Welcome back, Cass—what’cha got for me?” Rex finally cracked a toothy grin, opening the door completely for you to step through. You let your shoulders droop as relief washed over you.

“Here, I need a quick wash… effin’ hell…” You grumbled as you brushed past him, handing him the camera as you moved to the back of the trailer to put away your rifle. While the trailer may have looked like an old-ass tourist RV from the outside, the inside was cleanly equipped with the best surveillance equipment the feds could spare. Sure, it wasn’t the fancy gear that an international task force, like Overwatch, would have—but you weren’t fighting omnics—you were chasing (for a lack of a better word, according to your captain) gang bangers.

You made your way to the bathroom in the back of the trailer, grabbing a towel off the rack. As you ran the towel under the water, you could hear Rex processing your pictures with a chuckle.

“Dang, who’s Mr. Tombstone?” He chuckled.

“Don’t know, but chances are if he dresses like that all the time, he’s been made out on the net somewhere.”

“Ah yeah, good call.” There was a pause and you closed your eyes as you wiped the towel over your exposed skin, attempting to cleanse yourself of all that fine red sand. Rex seemed to have perked up, “Hey, seems like we’re dealing with a local legend. Ha, a… Jesse McCree.”

“As all-American as a name could be,” You smirked as you open your eyes, your own corn-fed blues gazing back at you with good cheer, “Let me guess, sun-kissed, green-eyes, dark-hair, and hails from the plains. Part native and a damn good shot?”

“Hah, hazel to brown by the looks of it.” Rex replied as he hears you approach, glancing up.

“Oh, but right on all other accounts?” You leaned over Rex’s shoulder and he nods.

“But he’s a big name…meaning…” His face darkened slightly.

“Might be a bigger deal than a simple trafficking operation we got here…”

“I’ll tell Jacobs. You rest up, cowgirl.” Rex couldn’t help but laugh as you wave your arm like you were about to throw a lasso. You weren’t going to argue with that. You made your way to the upper cot over the driver’s area, leaping into the sheets with ease.

“Yeehaw!” You shifted to your stomach as you hugged your pillow from underneath, burying your face within its lumpy comfort—the sleeping arrangements were always the least forgiving of the federal budget.

“Yeah… rest up…” Rex’s smile faded as he turned back to the screen, concern wracking his face, “We’ve got shit in the morning for sure…”

That was just the nature of these kinds of discoveries—but you and Rex were good for it—rather, you, Agent _______ Cassidy and Agent Adrian “Rex” Hunter were specialists on smugglers. This wouldn’t be the first time the two of you uncovered large scale criminal operations. Your first was five years ago, a cross border drug ring. The worst was your last one. It took a toll on Rex, mostly, finding a shipping can full of dead girls shook him up for months. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for your superiors to set you back on the field to work on this gang detail. You’d heard of these notorious outlaws for a while now, but the Deadlock Rebels operated in areas with low police ordinance—because who the hell would claim jurisdiction over a long stretch of god-forsaken desert? This was gun-runner paradise.

You awoke to the rumbling of the RV and as you gathered your senses, you realized that your vehicle was back on the highway. You groaned softly as you moved to get up, slipping down from the cot and hanging onto its edge as your feet made it to the floor of the trailer. As your eyes adjust to the blazing light reflecting off the red dunes ahead of you, you hear Rex coughing up his morning coffee.

“M-morning!” He hacked, “Making our way to the eastern ward.”

“That’s far from the train depot.” You rub at your eyes before pulling your long dark hair into a pony tail, a ritual motion to wake yourself up, “Why are we heading in the wrong direction?”

“Because Jacobs sent some intel about a local hang out, in a small town situated in a gorge along route 66. A Deadlock haunt of sorts. You, my dear, need to go get cleaned up and put on some plain clothes.”

“Ah, fuck, I’m on reconnaissance?” You immediately realized his play, your sigh is less than pleased.

“Hey, you’re the charmer—I’m just the fuck behind the screens.”

You are inclined to agree. Rex was a great agent when it came to informatics and he had a great right hook to compliment your left—but he was hapless in social settings where finesse was concerned.

“Guess that’s why you’re driving and I’m not.” You grumbled with a smirk, shaking your head as you ambled over to the bathroom to get ready.

“If I was leggy red-head, I’d have such a fucking advantage!” He called out, laughing, “Your plans are on the counter!”

You hated wearing make-up, but you knew the power of attraction. It was important not only look good up close, but also have a killer gaze from across the hall. The rest of you was unremarkable—but your face was your best asset when it came to plainclothes recon. A beanie over the hair that fell over your shoulders, a scarf to cover up your pale neck, form-fitted and dark winter casual for the rest of your outfit. You finished off your gear preparation with a pair of dark leather boots—carefully pulled over a small 9mm strapped to your calf. You went over your notes one last time as the RV came to a slow in a dinky parking lot outside a sketchy looking bar.

“It is a Friday…” You murmur as you closed the folder in your hands and returned it to the counter. Rex slid away from the driver seat to hand you a few small recording bugs, easy to plant on any smooth surface.

“You can gather intel the old-fashioned way, or place these, or you know—be good and do both.”

“I know the drill.”

“Careful out there, alright, Cass?” You paused as Rex gave you a concerned smile, “There’s only two of us and a whole fucking gang on this side of New Mexico. Pull out at the first sign of danger and try not to shoot anyone.”

You offer a warm smile, remembering that this was also ritual, “Yeah, I know the drill.”

As expected, the seedy bar was as dusty as the dunes outside—and none forgiving to anyone with a soft set of lungs. Smoke clung to the air as everyone seemed to have a cigarette balancing between their lips. Even midday, the place was packed—and you were sure many of the patrons were packing.

Your first stop is by the bartender, your attention split between maneuvering around drunkards and for any standouts in the crowd. Your first glance around the tavern give you nothing out of place and you ease into your seat—fluidly placing one of the bugs under the counter as you pull out a few bucks from your pocket and set it ahead of you.

“Whiskey, neat.” You say with a smile. The bartender only responds with a stiff nod as he takes your money and prepares you a drink.

As your gaze travels to give the rest of the bar another scan, a familiar hat catches your eye. Under the shadow of its brim, a purposeful stare returns your attention—looking at you intently as if he were waiting for you to notice.

You try not to look surprised, after all—you needed to act natural. You casually drop your gaze before glancing up to meet his. Your expectations were met as the man smiled in return. He pushed off from the wall, bringing up a lit cigar to the corner of his mouth.

Before the man could come close enough to hear you, you turn your head briefly to cough to your communicator, hiding the movements of your mouth with your drink as you gesture a thanks to the bartender.

“Contact.” Was all you mustered before you slowly faced the approaching cowboy.

“Now, that, darlin’, is no lady’s drink.” The man’s voice was smooth, yet it cut through the noise and hit your senses with a low rumble. You couldn’t stop your brow from twitching with pleasant surprise.

“Quite presumptuous of you to say, stranger.” You mimicked his drawl—a bit more subtle than southern charm.

“I’m your huckleberry.” Rex snickered through your communicator. You almost laughed through your nose; you resolved to kick his ass later.

“Presumptuous? I’m merely statin’ the obvious—I mean no offense ma’am.” He replied with a grin, taking the absence of a forward rejection as an invitation to join you. You return fire with a winning gaze, shifting your chin downward to glance up at him through the fan of your darkened lashes. He reached up to remove his hat and set it on the counter, “A lovely lady like yourself? Would’ve expected somethin’ softer. Color me impressed.”

“You’re assuming I’m a lady.” You laugh, playfully shifting in your seat as you move to face the bar—giving him your shoulder, “but I’m flattered.”

“You sure look the part,” He was appreciative of your movements, unabashedly letting his gaze wander your form. “Where are my manners…” His gaze snaps back to meet yours as he offers his hand.

“The name’s Jesse McCree.” He gave a small tilt of his head. Confirmation.

“Cassie.” You slip into your persona quickly as you take his hand to give a firm shake, “Cassie Evans.”

“Miss Evans… Pleasure’s all mine.” He echoes your fake name with playful adoration, cherishing the contact of your hand. So much so that he rewards it.

He never breaks eye contact, now shifting his chin downward so he gave you an intense stare. Slowly, he raises your hand, pressing your knuckles gently against his lips.

Instinctively, you swallow a lump down your throat.

If Rex could see you, he’d lose his shit with how you blushed.


	2. Operatives on the Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, you're wondering if this case is a bit above your pay grade...

**December-January**

“What’s a cowboy doing so far from the range?” You reflect the tilt of his head with a raised brow, your composure returning quickly as you pivoted in your seat to face him. His knees brush against yours and the brief contact drops his gaze.

“Ya’ might not be a cowboy, sweetheart, but I could ask ya’ the same thing, can’t I? You’re even more outta place than I am.” McCree replied with confidence, his smile never breaking.

“Oh, maybe in a different time.” You smirked.

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

“I imagine.” You gave your drink a few testing sips—brutally reminded that hard liquor was not your forte and whatever this was tasted like gasoline. Luckily, your passive demeanor held strong—barely a twitch of disgust on your lips. “Care to explain to me why I look out of place?”

“You’re easy on the eyes for one.”

“And where does your flattery tend to get you?” You recognize that charm came easily to men like him—but could you resist? You’re naturally wary even if your curiosity holds. He gave you an obvious look over earlier—now it was your chance to return the favor, your eyes batting slowly as you drank in the sight of this man. While most women would simply appreciate a rugged stud with the facial hair and a set of built shoulders (especially when they resembled actors from the golden age of western films), you were sizing him up. You knew he was armed; you spied the holster that disappeared into the curve of his waist, his shadow blocking whatever weapon it held from your view. Judging from his style, it was most likely a six-shooter.

He orders a drink, identical to yours and he pulls it in one go without so much a grimace; it might as well have been water.

“Far enough,” He pauses to rub at his throat gently before continuing, “An’ you’re also no regular. Don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round these parts before.” There was something in his gaze less gentle as he turned to look at you completely.

You don’t think you’ve been made—but of course—now you’re alert. It must’ve shown somehow as his smile becomes less friendly and more teasing.

“I’m a passerby.” You respond airily, meeting the challenge head on. A rookie mistake would’ve been to look away—no—instead you gamble by gazing at him intently, “Plus, you never know what colorful characters you’ll meet in places like this.”

“Adventurous, are we?” He leans in slightly and you catch a glint of golden metal from his waist. You peer at him with slight suspicion as his smile widens, his voice lowering to a gravelly whisper, “This isn’t a place for colorful characters, sweetheart. Precious thing like yourself looks lost as hell.”

Your awareness suddenly spikes, catching glances at your periphery. Even with your concentration on your easy composure, you’re well aware you’ve visibly stiffened and turned your attention to your surroundings—however subtle.

There were sentries by the door, leather jackets familiar to you. Two.

There’s McCree right in front.

Behind you, you’re blind to—but there’s a reflective surface behind McCree—giving you vision of a couple in conversation, one of them looking at you.

You try not to break out into sweat, dialing your acting up a notch as you face McCree completely. You cross your legs and lean forward as well, smiling gently as you gripped the drink in your hands. Maybe you were briefly spooked—but you charge on.

“Are you implying I need an escort. A strong man to keep me out of trouble?” A probing question, of course. Either you’re able to get him alone or he tells you to get the fuck out.

“Cassidy,” Rex’s voice suddenly cuts in, distorted, “I’m getting a fuck ton of interference.”

You hesitate, waiting for McCree’s response.

“If company’s what you’re lookin’ for. I’ve got the evening.” He replied calmly, his expression utterly unreadable. The words may have been flirtatious, but you know an empty promise when you hear one. Didn’t stop your brain from wandering for a flash.

You raise your hand to your mouth, tracing your lower lip in thought, “I’d not mind it—maybe if I’ve had a few more drinks.” You’re pleased to see his gaze follows your fingers.

“Cassidy, did you hear me? Make an exit plan.” Rex commanded impatiently from the communicator, his voice becoming increasingly distorted.

“Let me get you another round then.” McCree’s voice returned a subtle invitation. His expression softened and you realize the threat may have been passing as you notice the couple behind you was back to conversing intently. The sentries also looked preoccupied. You quickly polish off your drink—unable to keep from grimacing as the burn hits the back of your throat, nodding as you place your glass back down on the counter.

McCree looked pleased, even offering a sympathetic cringe, “Not your ‘ol Vat 69, I’m sure—but it could be worse.”

“This distilled with fossil fuels?” You murmur with a quiet laugh as your gaze wanders from your new drinking buddy, scanning the room for a so called ‘exit plan’. You seem to have flown under the radar, but there’s still the matter of the jamming signal—you couldn’t leave Rex exposed just to experiment how far you could get this cowboy to become a confidential informant.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. At least it’s ain’t moonshine.”

You turn to glance at McCree, slipping from your seat and deliberately brushing against the man’s side as you did so. This broke his concentration for a spell and you feel that air of interest return to his features, “Well, I am feeling adventurous, aren’t I?” You quip playfully as you trace your hand upward along his shoulder—moving past him.

“So you say,” He watches you closely, that momentary contact with your hand renewing the charm in his expressions, “You goin’ somewhere?”

“Ladies room.” You smirked with ease, waving your fingers at him as you hazard a playful wink, “A lady after all.”

He didn’t contest that, rather, he paid the bartender as he nodded to you—eagerly awaiting your return.

That last exchange of glances nailed something to your gut—whatever it was, it was _remarkable_. You were certain you had a killer gaze, but this man’s stare danced around yours with hypnotism you’ve never encountered.

It was a challenge you were inclined to meet.

You caught a glint of that golden metal at his waist once more, realizing it was a vast belt buckle emblazoned with the letters BAMF. Your abrupt amusement broke his spell as you resolved to turn from him.

It was only after reaching the quieter side of the bar that you remembered to breathe, coughing quietly as you disappeared behind the shadows of a corner.

You followed the signs to the bathroom, though your intention was to find a back exit or at least get out unseen to rendezvous with Rex. There were additional rooms by the hallway to the bathrooms, and carefully, you chose one to place a bug on the topside of a doorframe to hide it. You weren’t going to be able to place down all the bugs—but a few was better than none.

A sense of relief envelops you as you realize that there was a side entrance right ahead of you—looking like it lead out to the far side of the back-parking lot. Leaving one last bug, you quickly made your exit—hoping that you made a clean getaway.

A part of you lamented leaving a perfectly good mark, but the reason you were still kicking after dealing with smuggling rings and cartels is because you err on the side of caution.

Pretty faces, even as handsome as your new outlaw acquaintance, will come and go.

You scan the dusky scenery before you for the RV, catching sight of something dark moving in your periphery. As your head turns to the cars on the far side of the lot, you see nothing out of place. Nevertheless, it was time to get the fuck out of dodge.

As you get out of hearing range of the seedy bar, you brave contacting Rex.

“Hunter?” You quietly murmur as you look for cover in the nearby mesa, finding a suitable ridge with a dark alcove along its cliff side. “Hunter, do you copy, over?”

“Loud, but not clear, over.” You can hear the exasperation in Rex’s voice. You sigh, alleviated. His voice was still distorted, “You’re going to have to come to the rest-stop a few miles away. I’ll tell you more when you get here.”

You groan; he’s making you walk…again.

“You know, I could’ve had lady-killer around my fingertips and got us a CI before you pulled me out.” You grumbled as you removed the scarf from your neck and started your trek.

“I get the distinct feeling you would’ve failed. He was working _you_ over, Cass.” Rex snorted, “Alright—going silent. See you soon.”

Luckily, you made it one piece without getting too much of the fine sand up your trousers. Your boots, on the other hand, were finished. As Rex opened the door, you made a clear show of disapproval by removing a boot and pouring the fine red sand out of it.

“You fucker.” You grumbled, voice hoarse from the hike and in serious need of hydration. Rex didn’t even need to be told to bring you a bottle as you stepped inside.

“Sorry, ______, would’ve been made out otherwise.” You were pissed off at being ran ragged, but you understood. You collapsed into a seat at the table, leaning back with your legs sprawled out ahead of you as your head rested on the back of the cushioned booth seat.

“Yeah… I get it.” You paused to raise a fist, “Going to kick your ass next we spar, though—stupid huckleberry comment nearly made me spit in the man’s face.”

Rex grinned, “Couldn’t help it. When I heard the guy loud and clear, all I could think of was Doc Holiday.” He shook his head as his smile faded, “But, ah, Jacobs wants us back in Albuquerque by tonight.”

“Shit, already? Why?” You open one eye as you glance at your partner.

“Well, while you were busy seeing if you could make your possible CI’s dick hard, Jacobs and I ran a bit on the guy you’re dealing with and was cross referencing her findings on the gun-running activities around the area over the last few months. Apparently, it’s been quiet for a while—meaning our friends got craftier about being seen or…”

“They’ve been planning something big.” You finished, frowning.

“Yeah, and that jamming signal? A run of the mill gang wouldn’t have the tech to cut us off—so…”

“They’re more than we expected or there’s a third party running us through.” You slowly sat up, resting one arm on the table.

“Either way, we need more man power to act and for safety—we’re not going the traditional beat route.”

A thoughtful silence envelops the both of you as you consider the ramifications of the news.

“So… no CI.” You chuckled with a hint of disappointment.

“Can’t save a horse and ride a cowboy, Cass. Maybe next time.” Rex smirked, though his amusement was cut short as you shoved your heel against the side of his calf.

“Get driving, asshole.”

Jokes aside, you thought about it—and you let the shameful embarrassment show across your hapless smile. You settled in the passenger seat as Rex began driving.

“Yeah,” You breathed as you idly cleaned your face with a wet towel, “he was fucking gorgeous.” A grin erupted across your face, your head shaking.

“Ooooh, darlin’, tell me more.” Rex teased in a combination tone of sorority girl and a badly done southern drawl. The two of you couldn’t help but exchange laughter.

It didn’t take long for comfortable silence to settle between the two of you—the rest of the drive to Albuquerque going by without incident. Your subsequent debrief with Assistant Director Jacobs went by as expected. You really were in over your head with only two special agents on the detail; there were even rumblings of international involvement.

Still, the operation went along as planned—no more plainclothes or undercover work—you were either in a suit or darkened tactical gear, doing field reconnaissance (ass back in the sand, much to your dismay). Over the next few weeks, your detail painstakingly observed and analyzed the movements of the Deadlock Gang. You, along with Rex, were responsible for charting all your findings. The two of you lorded over the red string, sticky notes, and pictures you’ve tacked on a board, looking for a pattern in the madness. You had several conclusions and gun-runners were fairly straightforward. The problem was ascertaining when the gang would make its big move.

You couldn’t help but watch your new favorite outlaw closely. His demeanor with his colleagues seemed pleasant in passing—but you could pick up dissent from his actions. Something about what they were planning didn’t seem to sit well with your mark.

 

 

“Feds finally got sharp, didn’t they?” Morrison smiled as he glanced over the information gathered on his desk. He idly sifted through the images, lofting a brow as he spied a common denominator between several shots. A particular special agent seemed to have a vested interest in this operation—and either Reyes’ operatives were singling her out or this woman was at the site frequently.

“Something caught your eye?” Reyes didn’t even have to look at Jack to know his attention was piqued. The shuffling had paused, after all. The Blackwatch captain was staring out of the window, drink in hand as he idly scanned the vista outside.

“Yeah, who’s this woman your operatives are obsessed with? She doesn’t look like a civilian—and she’s usually in tac gear.” Jack inquired, lifting one of the clearer images to eye level.

“Isn’t it obvious? She’s one of the feds. A Special Agent _______ Cassidy.” Reyes grunted, his eyes coming to a close as he relished in the sunlight, rolling his shoulders back in an idle motion. “I mean, we’ve been hijacking their detail’s wires—I’d actually like to see what intel they’ve got in their operation’s office. They’ve a slight head start on us.”

“You sound impressed.” Jack glanced up at his colleague, offering a friendly smile.

“Well, I didn’t expect the feds to be efficient,” Reyes replied as he turned to face the commander. He took a sip of his amber tinted drink, giving a slight shrug, “Usually, they take forever to act unless the DHS is involved.”

“Who’s to say they aren’t?”

“They’re not, we’ve been following them—remember? As far as the feds know, they’re just dealing with a couple of high-tech gun-runners.” Reyes scoffed through his nose, draining his glass in no time.

“But you’re coming to me because….” Jack leaned forward in his seat, resting both elbows on his desk as his fingers came together over the intel, “you think they know more than we do… so you want a legitimate channel to contact this FBI detail.”

“A liaison on US soil never hurt, Jack.” Reyes’ brow furled, not taking kindly to the slight tease in Jack’s tone. The immediate response was Jack raising his hand in surrender.

“You normally operate without my help nowadays.”

Reyes scoffed again, “Maybe I’m just telling you—because with or without your blessing, I am going to the feds to see what they have.”

“Let me come with you. I’d really rather not have any of your clandestine shit get made.” Jack suddenly looked exhausted—either with Reyes’ demeanor or perhaps with recent operations his friend has been executing. Jack couldn’t help but become increasingly worried about Gabriel’s warpath.

 

 

The arriving helicopter sent gusts of wind whipping around your form, the lapel of your blazer flapping against your chest as you raised a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. You kept your hair in a tight bun, having it be the least of your worries as a final gust of wind signaled that the helo landed.

Rex stood beside you, arms together over the small of his back—looking uncharacteristically stoic as ever with a pair of aviators shielding his face.

“Here comes action.” Rex mumbled to you as two men exited the helicopter, one with striking blue eyes set beneath a head of pale blond hair—the other his mirror opposite, a dark-skinned man with a closely shaved fade of ebon hair, intense brown orbs to match. Both were as built as you expected seasoned soldiers to be. You also came to polite attention as the men approached.

You knew the blonde man by name—because who didn’t? This was _the_ commander. You felt intimidated that the international task force was interested in your detail; what deep shit have you suddenly uncovered? You were working a domestic case, after all. How big is this operation that Overwatch is suddenly involved?

“Agent Hunter, Agent Cassidy,” Jack Morrison offered a smile along with his hand, of which both you and Rex accepted graciously. The two of you led the pair back into HQ, “Pleasure to meet the two of you, I’m Commander Jack Morrison. This is— “

“Captain Gabriel Reyes,” The tall dark man cut in curtly, his gaze flickering to you as you were first to offer your hand to him while you walked.

“Commander,” You acknowledged both respectively, “Captain.”

“I understand you’re interested in our detail,” Rex quipped as he opened the door for everyone.

As you all piled in, Morrison was quick to respond, nodding.

“That’s correct, Agent—we’re currently vested in the operations of the Deadlock Gang.”

“We’ve been aware of your involvement since day one of your field investigations.” Reyes remarked quietly. Even at his softest tone, his voice cut the quiet like a surge through the wires.

Rex made the connections almost immediately, “You’re the ones with the jammers.”

Reyes lofted a brow as he glanced at your partner, “Ah…that’s why you’ve got a lot of radio silence.”

“We assumed,” You spoke up, “that either the Deadlock were packing more than we expected or that there was a third party involved.”

“Relieved…then, if you guys are on our side.” Rex raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, laughing gently.

There was an awkward pause as you spied Captain Reyes smile. You couldn’t help but watch him with suspicion—and the kind of stone exterior you saw in him was only accentuated by that comely (and evidently) Hispanic phenotype. It brought on both fear and intrigue.

Jack Morrison was, by demeanor and aura, Reyes’ polar opposite. Honesty exuded from the commander and you could not doubt the reasoning behind making this man the poster boy for Overwatch.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Both men responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes... I did post twice in one sitting... I actually have 2 other chapters that are ready to go... >.< eek 
> 
> BTW--the months listed at the top of the chapter is just to give the reader a gauge of the timeline. I didn't want to overreach my understanding of the exact year/timeline of OW--so I just put the month down :P


	3. Train Hopper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your mind's a beautiful place, except when it embarrasses you. 
> 
> (Implied fan-fiction within a fan-fiction)
> 
> Speaking of your pay grade, you're no longer running the show; you're determined to impress.

**February-March**

 

The next few weeks of your operation was a blur—honestly, it was as if Captain Reyes took over the detail with little resistance. You were no glory hog—but the man seemed to relish in controlling your colleagues. You don’t entirely understand the legal gymnastics Overwatch went through to suddenly have command of you—but you were made aware that you are the domestic liaison for Captain Reyes.

He was strictly professional, and you liked that—admired it quite a bit. His ruthless ways of handling some of the slackers in your detail was refreshing, and you had a feeling even Rex appreciated the man’s expertise. Rex was naturally passive—absolutely hated getting involved—but he reacted positively to Reyes’ alpha demeanor.

You found yourself alone in front of the board, scanning the clues for a better lead; you were sure of a location now but you know that striking early wouldn’t produce the payload and acting late would result in something explosive. Captain Reyes divulged his information on what kind of heat the Deadlock were smuggling—and while none of it was dirty—it did not lack in ordinance. This kind of munition was enough to knock a hypertrain off its rails.

You were so engrossed in thought, you were jolted from your concentration by that quiet voice slicing through the silence.

“Have a date for me yet?” Reyes inquired and you heard him shifting behind you as the tell-tale creak of the table suggested he was leaning against it.

“Sure, Kayla Riggs from HR—she loves Californians.” You blurted before you could stop yourself. A grimace followed soon after; you blame Rex—he made you a wisecracker. The painful silence that followed made a bead of sweat form at your temple.

“Hmm. Is she blonde?” Reyes replied after an excruciating pause, his deadpan tone doing nothing to ease your nerves.

You quickly turn to face him, only to notice his gaze was briefly lowered and his attention snapped back to meet your eyes at an appropriate level. You clear your throat, looking pathetically apologetic.

“Uh… sorry, sir. I meant to say that… um,” You fumbled with your words, not even realizing that there was a gentle smile across his face—amused as he watched you gesticulate with bumbling enthusiasm, “I don’t have an exact time, but I do have a week frame. Y-you see, we picked up a hypertrain schedule on one of their net data bases, seems like they’re watching a few routes with discriminant interest. I think there’s cargo smuggled on one of these routes.”

“Good,” He breathed as he pushed off the table, making his way over to you. In your flustered state, you quickly dropped your gaze as you made space in front of the board, your cheeks flushed with color.  He studied your work with a discerning eye, “but you’re going to have to do better than a week frame. Hypertrains come and go on several routes in one day.”

You nodded weakly as you finally found the courage to look up at the man. He met your gaze with an appreciative smirk.

“I’ll get right on it, sir.”

“Call me Gabriel—I’m working with you, not commanding you.” He said with a grunt, making his exit. You would disagree if you could, but you were stunned with confusion, tilting your head as you watched him over your shoulder. Was that good or bad?

 

* * *

 

“Oi, _______, got something for you.” Rex was the second person today to pull you from your wracking thoughts. You sigh in exasperation—feeling as if you were coming close to a conclusion in your findings, but to no avail as Rex jumped into the seat beside you.

You were giving your research a final look over in the office lounge, emptied this time of night as most operatives were already home. You idly glance up at the clock over the door; you were the worst at clocking out on time. Your attention shifts to your partner.

“Look what I found, it’s about your _darlin’_.” Rex cackled smugly as he shoved his phone in your hands. You sighed as you set your research on the coffee table to examine his findings. Your face immediately turns through fifty shades of red as you realize what you’re reading.

“Oh my God,” You cough as you find yourself unable to look away, “what the hell is this? Why is there so much of it?!”

“Told you he’s a local legend. Guess he’s got a bit of a cult following, eh? Like what you’re reading?”

You close your eyes and nearly pelt the phone against the side of his head. You slapped your free hand over your face and grumble in defeat, “No wonder he’s got that belt… That’s so stupid.” You paused and you give Rex an unimpressed look, “You do realize you were looking this up, and now it’s in your search history?”

“It’s research. Plus, it’s sexy; you love it.” Rex poked you with his elbow, “Come on… Come on, Cass, lighten up! I thought this would cheer you up.”

You manage to regain composure, letting your hand slide down from your face. Your cheeks remained flushed, “You are such an asshole, Rex, you know that?”

“It made you feel better, didn’t it?”

“A little bit.” You had to admit it, even if you didn’t look for too long.

Rex knew your weaknesses all too well—but of course, you clicked back to work-mode (or attempted to). You shook your head at him as you crossed your legs, “Now, fiction’s not going to help me crack this case, is it?”

“Probably not, but look—I know that Reyes was giving you trouble earlier and you’re fucking overworked. Do you ever sleep?”

“No, nor do I have a wife to go home to. Look, I’ll be fine—once I get a date on this heist, I’ll go to sleep. You need to head on home.” You looked to your friend with an exhausted grin. He needed to be home to Heidi before she rips him a new one.

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint.” He patted your shoulder as he stood up, pocketing his phone, “You take care, okay, Cass?”

“Yeah, skedaddle.” You smirk as you return to your work.

He signaled his farewell with an informal salute and his worst attempt at southern hospitality to date, “Ma’am.”

“Not all cowboys are from the south! They’re from Montana, damnit!” You cried with mock despair, laughter echoing between the two of you as he disappeared down the hall.

In your isolation, you slowly sank back into your seat, indulging in a brain break as you let your mind wander far and wide. You couldn’t help yourself from letting your thoughts settle on the snippets you read and you snap to attention as color returned to your cheeks.

“Oh God,” You gasp, a lump forming in your throat as scenes begin to play in your head involuntarily. You shudder, eyes coming to a close as you hear the outlaw’s voice ring in your ears—quiet words indiscernible yet inviting, the sounds of his raspy breathing becoming ragged hit your chest with bullet precision, churning your stomach and lower.

You scramble to your feet, nearly knocking the coffee table with your shins, “Oh fucking hell.” You swallowed your words, mumbling curses as you pace the room. Your hands instinctively rub at your eyes until they burn, as if it’d help cleanse your mind—your soul suddenly needing a confessional booth or maybe you should just flagellate yourself with a cat o’ nine tails.

“ _Forgive me father, for I have sinned_ ,” You hear yourself in your head, but the response was less than forgiving—rather, your brain was not done torturing you yet.

“ _Don’t worry darlin’, tell Father McCree everythin’._ ”

You felt your mortal soul leaving your body, the embarrassment and the utter betrayal of your head leading you to scream in the empty room, “¡Chingado!”

A gentle knock raps the doorway and you snap your attention with an intent to kill—self-hatred poorly misplaced.

“¿Esta bien?” You hear a familiar voice inquire, the tone was slightly surprised—and you nearly collapsed back into the couch as you catch Reyes’ stare.

“Más o menos,” You manage, raising your hands to your face as you attempt to hide your shame.

“You of all people, were the last I thought of to speak Spanish on the detail.” Gabriel cracked a tired smile, moving over to sit beside you.

“Why is that?”

“You were born and raised in Minneapolis, weren’t you?” He laid his head back against the couch as he glanced up at the ceiling, wringing his hands idly on his lap. You were almost surprised that the man knew—but then again, why would you be? The bureau probed your past, any defense department—even a temporary one—would do the same. “The far north’s more diverse in second language speakers than the south. French, maybe. Even Dutch, but Español?”

“Es una ciudad, no?” You couldn’t help but smile—something about the captain’s demeanor eased your anxiety, and you could sense he was pleased that you were fluent.

“Claro que sí, pero it’s certainly not a city like Los Angeles.” Gabriel slowly moved to sit up, resting his elbows on his parted legs as his gaze wandered towards your direction.

“No, it’s not.” You murmur affirmatively, “it’s nifty here near the border though.”

“Is that why you’re stationed here?” His dark eyes finally met yours. You don’t know why, but you quickly avert your gaze—either because you’re still recovering from embarrassment, or the intensity in the man’s natural state was a bit daunting…. Even in a casual setting.

“Realmente …” You began, pensively at first—before he manages to coax out of you a silly story about how you learned Spanish to impress one of your commanding officers when you started on the force. You wonder why he even bothered to ask—because it didn’t seem all that important.

Before you realize it, his presence had managed to assuage you from your improper guilt of yore. Maybe it’s because he’s exhausted your brain for all the Spanish you were capable of. Now at ease, your attention returned to the files on the table.

You could see him watching you from your periphery and when something in your mind clicked, you turned to look at him completely—your wide blue eyes enveloped in his umber stare.

“Espérate, creo que sé cuando vendrán.” You grab the files on coffee table as you grin at Reyes, handing the folder to him as you stand.

 

* * *

 

 

You’ve inconspicuously boarded the hypertrain, dressed appropriately like any of the classy passengers who enjoy traveling in style. Like before, you connected to your team via communicators. Besides Gabriel’s own soldiers, only Rex and yourself were assigned field work from the detail—with you wearing the disguise and him at mission control. Without jammers intercepting your signal, you had a clear line.

It didn’t take long for Reyes’ operatives to pick up on suspicious activity. You kept an eye out for it in the cabins as you patrolled about like a regular traveler. You were nervous, however, and were continually conscious of the Glock riding against your thigh. You’re trained and you’ve been in shootouts before—but it’s a whole different story when you’re riding a vehicle going 640kph.

You were both relieved and afraid of the confirmation that the gang was on board. This was fuck ton of civilians and you were not keen on the amount of firepower that was supposedly on the train. Suddenly a lone Glock made you feel quite underprepared.

At least you were right.

You hear a sudden crash coming from the front of the train and the fireworks following soon after.

“Everyone, get down!” You cry out, reaching for your service weapon as you crouched in between the aisles, making a quick dash towards the commotion. You hear the wild back and forth in the comms, the reports hailing in; the gang had apparently landed on the train by driving a vehicle off a ridge and crashing right into one of the front cars. You realize that there was commotion on the roofs too. You’d shoot, but you hazard harming civilians.

“Fucking crazy,” You muttered in disbelief, though you continued your rush forward. Some of Reyes’ operatives already started corralling the passengers to the back cars and you were ordered to clear a path ahead.

With operatives watching your flank, you secure the car behind you and you move onto the next. You hear grating voices through the door and as you peek through the window of the threshold, you recognize a few gang members—one of them holding a gun to a young woman’s head. The girl’s mascara ran as tears streamed down her face. Across from the perp was none other than yours truly, Jesse McCree.

Thankfully, your brain was on work mode and you watch the exchange carefully. McCree didn’t look all too pleased with his colleague, a bronze cast revolver in his right hand. You couldn’t make out what he says.

You had no time to guess, instead, you swipe at the switch to open the door. Before the perp holding the hostage could respond, you unload a shot to the man’s head. The bullet cleanly entered through his temple, rendering him dead before he hit the floor behind his poor hostage. Your training kicks in and you didn’t ask questions. You unloaded a shot at McCree and the three other jackets you noticed were standing. Unfortunately, you couldn’t get them all before hiding behind cover to reload.

The operatives were surprised to say the least, but they had your back, laying down suppressing fire as the shootout ensued. You hear McCree cry out in either shock or pain—but he made his escape along with a few others. A trail of blood seemed to denote that someone was injured from their party.

“Shit, they’re getting away.” One of the operatives murmured as he stood up. They looked to you as you rose from cover.

“Let’s get these people to safety. Two of you stay behind to make sure the passengers make it to the back okay. The rest of us, move forward.” The commanding presence in your voice would have shocked you if adrenaline wasn’t coursing through your veins. The operatives nodded to comply. From your comms, Reyes was inclined to agree.

You confirmed a few injuries—only death so far was the perp who held a gun to that woman’s head.

The teams ahead were already pushing the rest of the gang away from the passenger cars. Other operatives were working to secure the backside of the train—which was catching more action as most of the gang’s manpower was interested in the cargo hold.

You were nearing the engine room, and as you do so, you hear a loud bang—along with a blinding flash of light that had you ducking for cover.

“Get out!” You heard McCree’s strained voice yell. You must’ve actually hit him, he was injured. You heard them retreat to the upper tier of the car and as you rounded the corner—the last of Reyes’ operatives were rolling on the ground, injured.

“Operatives down, engine room.” You called out over the communicator, “Need back up. A few hostiles left, going to engage.”

“Negative, Agent Cassidy, stand down and wait for further instructions.” Rex replied in an even tone. You clicked your tongue.

“There’s only a few more. I’m not going to let them escape. Can’t let them reach the pilot controls.” You decided that you didn’t give a shit for instructions at this moment—for some reason, you were compelled to close in on McCree.

You bounded up the ramp leading to the upper level of the engine room. You can hear the roaring of rushing wind; someone had either opened the back door leading to the rooftops of the other cars, or broken a window. You readied your weapon and rounded the corner quickly, coming out of cover—giving you full visual of McCree in front of the backdoor. You raised your gun to aim at his head.

“Freeze. Hands in the air where I can see ‘em.” You call curtly over the deafening winds. McCree raises his hands but does not turn around to face you. He flinched after his hands reached a certain height. You spy an entry wound just above his elbow, blood trickling down along his arm to his shoulder.

“Is it customary for the constable to shoot first, ask questions later?” McCree asked loudly as he continued to watch the vista ahead of him.

“Turn around,” You ordered, ignoring his inquiry. He does so with no resistance and the door closed behind him as he faced you. At least now you could hear yourself think.

“You don’t know what you’re dealin’ with, missy.” He began, though surprise swept over his calm (yet visibly pained) countenance, “Miss Evans.” He breathed. You don’t question how he still remembers you.

“A couple of thugs who got a hold of guns and explosive toys. Nothing more basic than that.” You raised your gun, unhindered by his gentleness.

“Well you ain’t out of the woods yet, sweetheart.” He chuckled with difficulty, holding his hands up clearly a laboring task with his injury, “You’ve got to get outta here.”

You moved closer, keeping your aim up, “Why?”

“Rigged to blow. I’m sure ya’ had an idea of that.”

“The entire train?” You couldn’t help but let alarm show on your face.

“No, but one o’ the bridges ahead—along with this car.” He confessed.

“You’re telling me this why?” You knew your teammates were listening—or at least you hoped they were.

“I’d rather not die on this train, ma’am.”

You hear soft beeping from the level below. Your eyes widen upon recognizing the sound and you surge forward—barring all senses of caution as you charged your shoulder square into McCree’s chest. His eyes mirror your shock, unable to quickly react. Instead he held onto you as the door slid open and you both tumbled onto the roofs behind him.

Your combined velocity sent you both tumbling back across onto the roof of the next car, rolling a few extra yards away from the engine. Bruises and pains erupted all over your body, but your primary concern was to not fly off the train. You gripped onto one of the ridges below you. You hear McCree groaning just ahead of you, having landed squarely on his back and sliding until he hit a vent jutting out onto the roof.

He was first to recover, grasping his injured arm as he looked towards the engine. Through your strained vision, you see him burst into action.

“Evans!” He cries out, scrambling forward to press your body down onto the roof—shielding you from a deafening blast. The entire train lurches and you could barely gather your senses to move—ringing in your ears essentially jamming your ability to think. McCree’s body pressed down against yours and blocking your sight. You chose to opt for cover until the dust settles.

Instead of further calamity, you feel the train come to a slow—the sounds of an explosion reverberating from afar. You feel McCree’s grip over you lessen and as you gather your courage to move, you shove him off you and you gaze towards where the engine car used to be. Instead, you spy the two front cars of the train speeding off in the distance, lit up like the fourth of July.

“Holy shit…” You breathe, feeling the train lurch beneath you as it was coming to a stop without its main power supply. With no current to keep the train afloat, it dropped an inch onto the track. You balance from the quake with ease and even manage to get to your feet. You quickly pad your person for your weapon—realizing it must’ve been in the wind after your tumble.

As McCree also managed to get onto his feet, you instead opt for a hand-to-hand stance, finding the resolve to defend yourself accordingly.

“Damn, still pissy with me. Jus’ saved your life, darlin’.” He coughed, a trickle of blood streaming from his forehead. You falter—he was right. He took the brunt of the explosion for you and he could’ve easily bailed on you, but he was waiting by the door when you got to the second level of the car. It was almost as if he were making sure everyone got off safely.

Honor among thieves? You weren’t so sure—but you weren’t given the chance to beat him up.

He promptly collapsed in front of you and before his head could crack against the metal roof, you caught him.  
  
How his hat managed to stay on during this entire affair is beyond you. He was out cold, looking incredibly worse for the wear. As you laid his head on your lap, you check his pulse. It thumped gently against your fingertips.

“I’ve got a hostile in custody.” You finally raise on the comms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was trying a lot of things here, do correct my Spanish--it's been a long time since I've practiced it >.<
> 
> In any case, I know it's a little lax on the romance--but I swear, it's coming soon! Slowest of burns...


	4. Honor Among Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck with your favorite outlaw, he wants to thank you for sparing him... at least mostly sparing him in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your wait is somewhat rewarded--but in other news, this is where I fudge McCree's age a bit. ^^;

**March**

 

“Doctor, the patient’s coming to.” A voice called out, answered by the soft patter of heels hitting linoleum. A gentle weight pressed against the cowboy’s hand and he instinctively smiled, stirring in his hospital bed. His mind swam in the haze of dull aches and powerful narcotics—a combination that was far more welcome than his weekly hangover.

“Well, he’s responsive.” The other voice was sweet to his ears; an adorable accent he was sure was from across the pond. McCree uttered a soft groan, indicating he was awake—his eyes slowly opening.

“An’ I must be in heaven.” He managed to murmur, his voice a hoarse whisper, “are you my angel?” He chuckled as he made out two blurry figures looking him over. One had striking blonde hair in a messy up-do, the other had sleek black hair accompanied by some sort of nurse’s hat (he could make out the bright red cross).

“Still wonderfully alive, actually.” The blonde woman flashed a smile and Jesse could discern the upturn of her bright red lips against her pale skin, “Can you tell me your name?”

“Jesse McCree, ma’am,” McCree managed, clearing his throat painfully, “sorry to impose—but I’m parched.”

The nurse ducked out of view for a spell, returning with a glass of water. McCree took the drink with a pained bow of his head, ever polite—even if his entire body was stiff. He managed to sate his thirst without too much trouble and he quickly eased back into the sheets. When was the last time he got to enjoy a clean bed? He might be bruised as hell—even riddled with bullet and shrapnel holes, but was completely indulging in his current luxury.

“Age?”

“Twenty-six and countin’.”

“Do you know where you are, Mister McCree?” The woman inquired—which McCree could only assume was his physician.

“I don’t know, doc, probably the hospital?” McCree barely moved his lips as he talked, sighing as his memory was starting to come back to him. He remembered being held at gun point, then tackled out of the engine car only to shield his assailant from a blast. Was the lass worth it? He sure thought so—but then again, he just hoped everyone made it out of the blast alive.  
  
“Correct. Do you know the date?”

“Can’t say I’m good with time.”  McCree smirked as he tried to open his eyes again—this time, he had better focus, able to survey his surroundings. He glanced at the doctor, a beautiful angel indeed—with bright blonde hair in a messy pony tail. She did look quite foreign—matching her voice to her face, “So, where exactly am I?”

“The infirmary of the Federal Bureau of Investigation office in Albuquerque, New Mexico.” The doctor managed to say without stumbling over her pronunciation, “I am Doctor Angela Ziegler.” She gestured to herself.

“Pardon me, _the_ Doctor Ziegler?” McCree coughs as he immediately recognized the name.  She nodded with a smile, pleased at his recognition.

How did he get caught up in this? She was one of those spooks from Overwatch. He groaned as he closed his eyes once more. Just as he feared, he’d been caught.

At least he was alive.

“You’re all patched up, but as any injuries go—I suggest avoiding any extensive physical activity for the next four to six weeks.” She remarked calmly, “I would also suggest being more careful with your left arm. A shattered elbow can only be repaired so many times.”

“I’ll try not to lose it.” McCree remarks. It was difficult to stay polite, and he managed to smile again—though he was anxious and already thinking of ways to get out of this mess.

“Very well,” Doctor Ziegler stood up as she checked on the monitor beside his bed, “We’ll keep this IV in until the afternoon. You should be able to walk around in a few hours. If you need anything, there’s a call button on the side of the bed.” She gestured near his right arm. He didn’t bother looking, simply nodding as she bid her farewell and moved to the door. As McCree idly studied his bed, he absent-mindedly tugged on his right ankle and realized that he was cuffed.

He blinked, confused—and before he could investigate—a tall dark man greeted Ziegler at the door. He looked menacing to say the least, though polite enough to offer a nod of acknowledgement towards the doctor. Ziegler gave the man a concerned expression, patting his shoulder and brushing past him. McCree saw her mouth, ‘be gentle,’ to this new visitor before leaving.

The man pulled up a rolling stool to sit beside McCree, his figure hulking even as he took a seat. As the man neared, McCree pulled back slightly—feeling an oppressive aura looming over his new acquaintance. The outlaw was not easily intimidated, yet, he recognized the man’s raw strength—and didn’t doubt that this imposing man could choke him where he lay with little to no effort.

Respectable, McCree supposed.

“Can I help you?” The outlaw began, putting on a bravely impassive face.

“Depends,” The visitor remarked gruffly, “I am Captain Gabriel Reyes of Overwatch.”

Another name McCree recognized—by God, he’s stumbled into real shit now. He groaned softly, shaking his head, “I’ve heard your name before. I’m guessin’ Miss Cassidy Evans is one of your operatives, huh? Tch, figures.”

He wasn’t necessarily angry—could he be? He recognized that the woman was incredibly out of place in that bar almost immediately. She played it cool rather well and while he wasn’t completely convinced she was just some barfly, she charmed him good and he let his guard down. He should’ve been careful.

“Agent ________ Cassidy is actually with the US government. She gave us a tip on your operations. But there’s a lot she doesn’t know.” Captain Reyes grunted with a small frown.

“Oh… _______ huh? Lovely.” McCree huffed as he glanced down at his hands, “So, seein’ as I’m not locked up—I reckon you’re here to bargain.”

The Captain looked somewhat pleased, perhaps happy to skip the small talk, “Right. Here’s the deal, we’ve been trying to smoke out the Deadlock gang for a while. Certain tactics caught our eye and while some methods are less than savory, that doesn’t diminish their utility.”

“You sound impressed.”

This was becoming an increasingly common occurrence. Gabriel idly wondered if he needed to raise his standards.

“I appreciate effectiveness,” Reyes confirmed as his expression flattened—looking as surly as ever, “and seeing as you’re the youngest of your crew, I’m here to offer you a deal: join my operations under Overwatch, or rot away for the rest of your wretched life in max-security prison.”

“Doesn’t give me much of a choice, does it?” McCree pondered aloud—though a particular notion caught his attention, “You’re only recruitin’ me ‘cause I’m young?”

“Yes.” Reyes replied quietly, “and it seemed that Agent Cassidy was thankful for your... assistance.”

“Oh, did she request mercy on my behalf?” McCree perked up considerably at the thought.

“No,” Reyes was quick to squelch his hopes...almost defensively. “I considered her opinion when she debriefed me on the incident.”

“An’ she was objective?” McCree teased, lofting a brow.

“She was kind enough to back the deal. Why, would you prefer the other option?” Reyes looked like he was about to stand up.

“Whoa, easy, I was just teasin’.” McCree couldn’t help but laugh, waving his hands in surrender, “she was mighty kind then. Like I said, I don’t have much a choice and I guess I wasn’t really feelin’ up to a life of crime forever.”

Reyes snorted as he finally stood, “Good, because we’re leaving shortly.”

McCree scrambled to sit up and received a sharp reminder that he was supposed to be resting, courtesy of his recovering arm. He grimaced and patted his head with his free hand—searching for his hat, “Hey, Captain, my effects please!”

 

* * *

 

You wrapped up your case and were slowly taking down all your findings from the board, chalking it up as a win. While a victory, you couldn’t help but feel like there was quite a bit of unfinished business surrounding this whole Deadlock Rebels matter. From Overwatch’s involvement to their quick clean-up of the whole affair, you were suspicious that there was something to this whole detail that Captain Reyes was planning all along. Some of the logistics of the data you found didn’t make sense—and it didn’t add up when you consider a group like the Deadlock suddenly become so prominent in a short amount of time.

Or having prominent connections.

It was all very odd to you and what has you even more perplexed was the offer Reyes left at your desk. You didn’t want to contest such a decorated member of Overwatch—after all, these men and women were heroes.

That evening, you finally went home on time—dodging Rex and his unsolicited opinions on your personal life. You lived in a cozy home right outside the city—the surrounding desert less red sand and more towering rock formations. It was lonesome out in the canyons, but you loved how bright the night sky was without the light pollution.

You recalled your first stakeout during this case—hiding it out in mesas just like the ones by your house and suddenly a pang of paranoia gripped your mind. You stepped away from the moonlight peering through your windows, feeling a bit self-conscious about being watched. Now that the gang was locked up, you had nothing to worry about, right? 

You shook off the silly notion and moved to enjoy your coffee at the dinner table. As you idly surf the web on your phone, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched. Perhaps your exhaustion was making you paranoid and you moved to turn off all the lights in your living space—carefully moving about the room to close your curtains as well. As house goes dark, you glance at your phone.

2:20AM, it reads.

You sigh, acknowledging that it might just be sleep calling to you. As you lower your guard and turn towards your bedroom, you hear a gentle knock at your door.  
You nearly drop your phone in surprise, your eyes going wide as you darted to the counter and set your phone down, hand groping down the underside of the cabinet. Your fingers manage to wrap around one of your guns and as you sneak over towards the door, you turn off the safety of your pistol. You didn’t want to hazard looking through the peephole and be spotted by your to-be assailant.

A moment of silence passes—and you suddenly wonder if were simply hearing things. As you were about to sigh in relief, another knock echoes from the door.

You grimace, slowly moving your hand to your doorknob.

“Who’s visiting this time of night…” You whisper to yourself. You let another second pass before you swing the door open and train your weapon to whoever was knocking.

To your surprise, a familiar outlaw stood at your doorstep, ready to knock a third time.

You don’t lower your weapon, “What are you doing here?!” You bark at the man, exasperation in your voice.

“Woah there,” McCree didn’t even seem surprised, rather, he raised his hands up in surrender. He glanced up at you with a weak smile, “Miss _________ Cassidy, right? I just came here to thank you.”

He seemed genuine, but you were wary this was a ploy. You stood your ground as you kept your aim trained at his head, making evident you weren’t satisfied with his answer.

“Look,” McCree began as he reached up to remove his hat, “I’m not armed right now and I asked Captain Grumps to let me come thank you in person.” You didn’t like that he lowered his hands—but seeing as both were on his hat, you realize that he posed no danger.

“A call would have sufficed, Mister McCree.” You remark as you lower your weapon and turn the safety back on, bringing it behind you to tuck it into your pants, “How did you even find me?”

“Are all you feds so trigger happy?” McCree pondered aloud before clearing his throat, “Reyes told me… or actually… Rex? Is that his name? Your partner?” Your rolled your eyes as you stepped aside, a silent invitation for the man to enter. He graciously accepted the gesture.

You suddenly remembered that you still had to kick Rex’s ass for all the shit he gives you.

“When did you ever find the time to talk to Rex? I thought as soon as the Captain cleaned up around the office, they’d get the hell out of here and off to Zurich…. meaning you’d be out of here too.”

“Made time, sweetheart, at the cost of cleaning Cap’s bathroom for a week.” McCree closed the door behind him and for a moment, you were both enveloped in darkness. You heard a pleasant laugh escape the cowboy’s lips, “Well, isn’t this nice…”

It doesn’t take you more than a second to reach out behind you and hit the lights back on. As warm light washes over both you, McCree frowned ever so gently.

“But uh, happened today. We’re leavin’ in the morning and I asked if I could take the night off after preparations to come see you.” He idly turned the hat in his hands as he looked at you with the same kind of gaze he wore the first time you met. It briefly caught you off guard, as if such a stare re-awoke those torturous sensations you experienced when Rex tried to ‘cheer you up’.

Thankfully, the bitter memory of embarrassment kept you anchored—too ashamed to be charmed. As he beamed at you, all you could do was offer a tired nod before moving towards the kitchen. You put your gun away, grumbling quietly, “I could’ve shot you, Mister McCree. You shouldn’t be so thankful.”

McCree joined you, taking a seat on the barstools behind the counter, “Ah, actually, you did shoot me, didn’t you?” He couldn’t help but smirk at that, “But seein’ as you’re a woman of the law, wasn’t all that surprisin’ you did so. Did have a hostage you were desperate to rescue… the bigger shock was how you left me hangin’.”

A brief silence clung to both of you as your stares locked, his gaze seeking an answer in your eyes—and you found yourself feeling regret. In that exchange, you held your breath as color crept onto your cheeks. It wasn’t until you turned away to gesture towards your humble liquor shelf near the fridge that you remembered you had to breathe, “So, I owe you a drink.”

“I should’ve known that there was more to you than adventures at a bar, darlin’.” McCree snorted as an easy smile rested on his lips. His lightheartedness eased the strange anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach—and you did your best to avoid eye contact for the time being.

He watched you move across the kitchen to prepare a couple of glasses—whiskey neat, like last time. You brought the bottle over as well.

“Vat 69,” He read aloud as he took the bottle from your hands, studying it closely, “Now this… is a classic. Where does a fine young lady like yourself even get a hold of this stuff?”

“I didn’t,” You admit with an apologetic smile, offering the other glass and keeping your eyes down—though, instinctually you glanced up at him through your lashes. He seemed to always catch it when you do—only fueling your dread further.

He mirrors your actions as you raise your glass to him, “Cheers,” you manage coolly before taking a few sips. At least this time, the drink was more liquor than rubbing alcohol.

“Oh?” McCree quipped after clearing his throat, setting both the bottle and the glass back down on the counter between you.

“My father gave it to me. He used to have quite a liquor cabinet when he was on the force. Didn’t need it all after retirement and I opted to take his more decorative looking drinks.”

McCree looked offended as he briefly dropped his jaw, only to grin with mirth soon after, “You sayin’ you’ve been judging drinks by the look on the bottle?”

“Sorry to disappoint; I’m actually not a great drinking buddy.” You smirk as you glance over your shoulder towards your liquor shelf. It was quite an impressive array of classic drinks. You wondered what would interest McCree besides the whiskey.

“Well, your father’s got good taste, Miss Cassidy. And here I thought _you_ would keep impressin’ me.” The soft lull of the alcohol made his words swim around your head in a pleasant haze. While you weren’t quite drunk, the buzz did well to hide your embarrassment from yourself.

You return fire with confidence, perking up slightly in your seat as you polish off your first drink (probably not your wisest move), “If I wanted to impress you, I’d just shoot you again.”

His heated gaze became half-lidded as he studied your response with an amused chuckle, “Well, to be fair, it was a good shot—maybe I’m not thanking you, I’m congratulating you.” He paused as he lowered his glass, helping himself to another serving. You didn’t stop him as he poured you another drink.

“Do I get a medal?” You scoff playfully with a tilt of your head, warily eyeing that second glass of whiskey; you know you can’t hold your liquor for shit.

“Maybe, if you can keep up with me.” He raised his glass to you as his smile became a grin, “Where’d you learn to shoot like that anyway?”

“Was my hobby growing up,” You reminisced as you took your drink back, idly walking your fingers along the rim of the glass, “Dad was a detective and mom was always working.  She preferred that if I go to work with any parent, I’d be down at the precinct rather than the hospital. Worked out for me, learned to handle guns on a range early. Grew up shooting pistols—then got a little competitive with knocking clay pigeons out of the sky.”

“Sounds like a rich man’s sport, if I were to be honest.” McCree remarked appreciatively as his gaze follows your fingers, perhaps idly at first, “But if it taught you how to aim so well and so quickly—guess it was investment o’ sorts.”

“Kept the bad guys away,” You exhaled as you lifted your glass and pressed the cool surface against your lower lip. Your forefinger traced along the opening of your mouth, slowly and deliberately before you knocked back the entirety of your drink. You kept watch of McCree’s expression and could see his brow rise with your motions. He says nothing as you upturn the glass and set it on the counter, sliding it back towards him. He caught it without looking, staring as you ran your tongue along the bottom of your upper lip, “at least I think so.”

Rex wasn’t here to shake you out of your haze, and you’re not entirely sure where your paranoia went—but you simply found yourself enjoying the captivating company in front of you. McCree shifted in his seat as he turned your glass over to prepare another helping.

“Let me catch up, princess,” He laughed and you sensed a crack in his confidence, as if he wasn’t quite sure of what was transpiring between the two of you. Before handing you your glass, he knocks back his own drink.

You reach out for yours, thinking that liquid courage would silence the growing disquiet in your chest. He doesn’t stop you, rather, he joins you for the next pull. You don’t quite reach the bottom of your glass—but the solid burn hits your throat regardless.

McCree looks you over, concern wracking his features as you lean forward—a brazen expression on your face to meet his warm gaze. You set your arms on the counter, entwining your fingers as you hum in thought, “So, are we even?”

“Even?” He chuckled, regaining his composure as his easy smile returned—a churning hunger creeping back into his own stare. He looked as if he were considering his next words carefully—temptation seeming to get the best of him. “We ain’t even yet.”

He looked at you with that half-lidded gaze, more beguiling by the second as you both finish off your third drink.

“I think expensive scotch is ample compensation.” You pout with a gentle bite of your lower lip. He laughs as he shrugged.

“I don’t know,” He chuckled, “I’m not satisfied.”

“Have another drink.” You give a flourish with your hand towards the bottle and the two of you shared in laughter. He obliged with that winning smile you were starting to admire. While a foreboding hunger remained between the two of you, evident in the games you both played with your eyes, the two of you settled into a spirited back and forth.

He regaled you with his adventures as an outlaw—though he seemed genuinely opposed to hurting others. Rather, he enjoyed challenging the law and hemorrhaging the super wealthy of their riches. You asked about why he came into the life of crime, but it seemed to be a sore spot, so you didn’t press further.

He was keen on hearing about your history with guns, though you were adamant about having been on the side of the law—a feature of you he seemed to respect rather than revile.

After an unhealthy amount of liquor, you caved first.

“Alright, alright,” You shake your head as you pushed yourself away from the counter, “I know I’m already going to be hungover. I’d rather not vomit in my sleep.”

McCree shook the emptied bottle, chortling, “And you said you didn’t make a good drinking buddy.”

You tripped over your own foot as you moved to exit the kitchen. You didn’t flinch one bit, already accepting your fate of eating shit when an arm caught you by the waist—keeping your pearly whites from kissing the floor.

“Woah, thanks,” You murmured, eyes going wide as you turned onto your back—McCree holding you in a dip as if it were part of a dance.

“Careful there, darlin’,” He laughed gently, his voice lowered to a sweet whisper, “I don’t think the floor’s your bed, now is it?”

You meant to respond, but your words fail you and you were caught in his stare. His arms flexed under you as he reflexively shifted to bring you closer, close enough that you could see his Adam’s apple twitch—unable to keep himself from swallowing his words.

He managed a quiet laugh, a gentle murmur to the quickening pulse beating against your ears.

“______,” He breathed your name, the heat in his voice rekindling a hunger you’ve long since forgotten.

Your surprise ebbs and instead, your eyes close as you mouth his name in return, “Jesse…”

You catch the scent of whiskey first, followed by an overwhelmingly warm pair of lips against yours. You find your breathing going light as you gasp—your open mouth an invitation for his seeking tongue. You taste the liquor in your kiss along with the faintest trace of tobacco—committing the combination to memory as uniquely McCree’s.

He slowly straightens himself, pulling you along as your hands snake up from his arms to his shoulders. You push yourself to his form and relish in the sensation of his firm chest against yours. Your fingers trail to his collar and meet behind his neck, one hand grasping upward to clutch a fistful of his dark hair.

He held onto you tightly, his right hand at your waist while his left grasps you from behind, lifting you to him as he pushed you back against the wall. You shift your legs up along his thighs, giving him the liberty to close the gap between your waists. It left so little to the imagination—the disquiet in your chest now tugging at those swelling lines between your legs.

Ragged breathing and hungered groaning echoed in the hallway, every passing moment churning your insides and begging for more.

McCree showed little sign of wanting to stop, even forgoing breathing as he panted for air with every brief parting of your lips. You run your hands down along his chest, tugging on his collar roughly as he shoved his hips against yours—a rigid length leaving your inner thigh a fine promise of what could come.

You wanted to go on, truly, you did. When was the last time a man took you like this? Or when you allowed it? Why is it that for you, work always came first? That’s what Rex chided you relentlessly for—you could never let your hair down.

McCree would’ve shown you a perfect time—you’ve already fantasized about it—imagined his rough hands gripping your bare skin or pulling you by the hair.

But your eyes snap open as he peeled from your lips, leaving a trail of wet kisses down along your neck. You savored in it, but a little nip at your collar woke you up—made you hesitate. McCree realized this as you had stopped unbuttoning his shirt. Your body stiffened as he pulled back enough to look you in the eyes, confused to why you’ve wavered.

It’s true…you have fantasized about him… but this didn’t feel right.

“Darlin’?” He asked gently, tilting his head. Worry crossed his face, did he do something wrong? He was quite sure you wanted this just as much as he did.

“I—Jesse,” you begin to stammer. It took you a few awkward seconds to relearn how to breathe, gasping for air as you stare back at him. His dark eyes caught the light from the kitchen in a way that made his gaze glimmer, his hunger…seem innocent in his question.

“Yes, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He moves in for another kiss and your eyes naturally close as he neared. You didn’t deny him the taste of your lips, but you didn’t return it either.

“I,” your body was screaming at you, “I can’t.”

“What?” He barely exhales as he pulled back once more, brow furling, “Why not?”

“Jesse… I’m drunk as hell,” you reasoned—even if your insides were calling bullshit, “and… it’s not right.”

Your pulse was already starting to stabilize, that lustful haze looming over you evidently dissipating.

To your surprise, McCree chuckled—offering a charming smile.

“You’re not mad?” You blurt out.

“Why would I be? You kissed me.” Though a part of that smile seemed largely disappointed.

“I can’t fuck you drunk,” The least you could do was confirm what you wanted, your mind already going through some mental gymnastics to rationalize why you turned down a perfectly good lay, “this isn’t how I pictured it…”

“You’ve imagined it?” He lofts a brow as his hands slowly shift onto your waist, holding you up still. He didn’t push his luck, but he refused to let you go completely.

“I… uh…” You couldn’t look him in the face then. You might be drunk, but without lust guiding your loins—embarrassment has now moved back in.

He smirked, taking your inability to respond coherently as a fair answer. He lowered you back to the ground.

He gave you one last kiss, a gentle peck. You pull away, defeated.

“The guest bedroom’s right here.” You use the wall as your crutch, gesturing to a door on your right. He simply nods and you manage to find the doorknob to your bedroom.

As you give him one final look over your shoulder, he was still smiling, “Again, Miss Cassidy. Thanks.”

“Sorry for shooting you.” You chuckle weakly, a headache beginning to creep into the back of your head.

“I’ll hold you to it, darlin’. Maybe next time, we can continue,” He turns to the guest bedroom door, “and proceed how you pictured it.”


	5. Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As your cowboy is recruited, so are you--but you didn't exactly part ways on a good note, did you?

**March-August**

You sank against your door slowly, closing your eyes with a groan as the dull throb at the base of your neck crept to the corner of your eyes. It hasn’t quite registered yet; what you’ve done and what you’ve failed to do.

You were rather accepting that this was the kind of shit person you are—too caught up in what was right or wrong, never taking in anything indulgent, never partaking. Maybe that’s what makes you croon over a criminal like Jesse McCree. You watched him from afar for a while—and while you were a woman of the law—you were enchanted with how he lived his life as you observed. He was so nonchalant about everything, using his skills to his advantage—not a fear of cheating anyone out of anything, going with his gut feeling, and truly embodying that masculine carefree of a man on the range. He really did seem like he popped out of those old western movies you watched with your parents…

You reached up to rub at your temples, silently beating yourself for being so set in your ways. With the residual pleasure of your alcohol escapades fleeting, you knew that sleep was going to be your best cure for the time being—then tomorrow, something fizzy.

As you ambled on the floor towards your bed, you feel a strange warmth in your chest—maybe a little spark of joy in that sea of self-depreciation. Someone found you attractive enough to grope against the wall; that counts for something, right? It was flattering—even if you suspect that the cowboy was a shameless flirt and would’ve easily done the same to any other woman. You chalk that up as a minor victory in this war lost.

Your head manages to land on a pillow as you scrambled into the sheets, on your stomach with your head turned towards your alarm clock.

4:30AM, it reads.

You chuckle weakly—relief washing over you in that you didn’t stay up as much as you feared. Even with the missed opportunity and the unyielding regret writhing in the pit of your stomach—you did feel some sense of pride. Sure, you stupidly passed up great sex (at least you assume so, no one carries that much confidence without the walk to follow through!), but you didn’t lose yourself to the alcohol and while it didn’t do shit for your personal life, being strict with yourself showed discipline. Someone’s got to respect that—you hope, anyway.

A part of you thought so—your woefully repressed id said otherwise.

Your inner turmoil lasted seconds in comparison to your guest, however, who didn’t find sleep all that welcoming. McCree blinked in the darkness of your guest bedroom, silently surveying the cozily decorated room that looked like it was specifically designed to impress a mother. Even in the muted moonlight peeking through the blinds, McCree could see that someone painstakingly put every effort into making this room presentable. Vintage furniture, art-deco paintings, pastel sheets, a _vanity_ ; you had to be a person of extremes. He assumed you never have guests—but if by the off chance you did, damned if they didn’t feel like they were treated _right_.

While he certainly appreciated the unmistakable attraction developing between you (and with great enthusiasm, he would’ve explored it to its fullest extent), he was rather shocked to have met a woman with your staunch character. He’d been rejected before; this feeling wasn’t new, even if he hadn’t experienced it in a long time—it wasn’t that. It’s true that charms and women came easy…hell, gun slinging and shooting came easy too.

But you…you were challenging.

It wasn’t that you were playing hard to get—but there was a sudden realization that the cowboy’s never quite made before—especially when it came to women: he wasn’t good enough for you.

No, he could make a great lover for a night, he could out shoot you if you didn’t get a jump on him, he could probably outpace you, and you sure as hell can’t spin a revolver like he could—but that’s not what he meant by _good_.

“Shit, girl.” He scoffed, though unable to keep himself from smiling as he meandered over to the edge of the bed. As he slumped down on its corner, he reached up to scratch at his beard in idle thought as his other hand rested against his thigh. His need was ebbing away, but there were throbs and jolts that coaxed his hunger as he thought of you. He had you in his arms, after all—and you were putty in his hands as his mouth coaxed the breath out of you. In his silent reverie, his pulse raced at the thought of you imagining it too—you admitted it, after all.

 _How’d you see it, _____?_ He wondered as he plopped back onto the bed, one arm now behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, _made me your ride or begged me to make ya’ forget how to walk?_

He chuckled quietly at the thought, but he felt a pang of disappointment hit him square in the chest. Not at you, no, in fact—he respected your decision, wholly. You’re not like every woman that fell for his charms and it wasn’t a for a lack of try either.

You didn’t know him like you thought you did—in your infatuation, you placed him on a pedestal like he was some kind of Robin Hood.

He didn’t divulge his life of crime to you like he should have.

He did what came easy and naturally to him; you were right in that he wasn’t exactly a malicious person or enjoy hurting others, but he was good at killing people and he did it because it was the lifestyle that got him what he wanted. McCree didn’t use his resourcefulness for good and more often than not, those fancy stories he told you, he had told other skirts to get them to wet his dick. It almost worked on you.

It dawned on him that…well…women like you exist—and he fucking liked it. Dare he admit it, he respected it? Admired you for it.

And the thought of having lied to you… not just about his past, but coming to visit you to thank you—made him feel shame like he’d never felt before.

McCree sighed, closing his eyes as he let his mind go to war; half his thoughts lingered towards what you were possibly wearing underneath your sleepwear, the other berating him for even staying the night.

He couldn’t possibly face it, that new sensation, not to you—so he’d leave it at that.

By morning, he was gone without a trace.

* * *

 

You didn’t even question it—how you acted was not only wildly inappropriate on a professional level but you imagine that rejecting a guy like him would end your escapades, abandoning whatever they were meant to be when you posed an impossibility. You were starting to wonder if you had a gnome between your legs or something; not only were you experiencing a drought California hasn’t known for decades, you were choosing to have a dry spell.

_What the hell is wrong with you?!_

You weren’t even listening to Rex ramble as you sat at your desk, glassy eyed and completely out of touch with what was going on in your surroundings.

_Girls would kill to have a guy like him in bed, even just for a night._

“—you can’t be thinking of turning this down are you? It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, you know? I mean… you won’t be around here anymore, but I think you could do a lot more good outside this god forsaken state…”

_Hell, they write about it… don’t pretend like you didn’t like what you read._

“I mean New Mexico isn’t that barren anymore—and maybe you can even find work back up north, but with a lot of activity from the Los Muertos in Mexico, the border with Sonora’s always gonna be using us as hounds. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life chasing drug dealers and gang bangers?”

 _His voice, his breath_ , you choked as a sigh caught in your throat, _he smelled so nice. Musky… earthy…masculine._

“Cass, are you even paying attention?”

The loud thud on your desk snaps you back to attention, realizing you’d been breathing heavily and nearly hunched over in your seat. Your gaze slowly comes to focus on the hand that was planted on your desk, inches from your face.  
  
“______, are you okay?” Rex lofted a brow as he peeled his hand from your files, reaching to his collar to fix the lapel of his coat.

“What?” You mouth before remembering to use your voice properly, “Yeah, I’m fine, just didn’t sleep too much last night.”

Rex blinked before he leaned in close, eyeing you with suspicion as a crooked grin began to creep onto his face, “Cass….”

“What?” You sigh, at first confused, you don’t often see that conspiratorial expression unless…. You then scowl at him, “What?” You repeat firmly now.

“You know… that criminal our International friends had in custody… they kind of gave him a lax treatment last I saw—as in, they didn’t even handcuff him when he left the infirmary. Good ol’ Captain Reyes is apparently going to make use of him and he even came by here,” He gestured to your desk, “To ask about where you could possibly be. Wanted to thank you for putting in the good word to Reyes.”

“Rex, you son of a bitch, you stop right there.” You slowly start to stand, defending your embarrassment with your last shred of dignity as you stare daggers into your friend’s very soul.

“McCree, is that his name?” Rex tapped his lip in thought, “Yeah, nice guy. He was very polite when he asked where he could find you. Figured since you took your work home with you all the time, you didn’t mind the guy you took into custody coming by your place.”  
  
At that, you slammed your fist onto the desk, “That’s fucking _low_ , Hunter. You gave a fucking criminal my address and you didn’t even stop to think how dangerous pulling that shit is?”

Rex’s look of surprise was outdone by the look of rage you saw reflected in his glasses. He didn’t look afraid, just shocked that you’d nearly scream his head off. As soon as the words left your lips, along with the pain of your fist hitting hard wood—your fury was all but deflated.

Where did that come from?

“Woah, hey, I figured you needed the company—and if he really was dangerous, you nearly killed him once—not like you couldn’t do it again.” Rex replied in a lowered voice, his tone bereft of its usual dry humor, “Did something bad happen?”

“I…” You manage before collapsing back to your chair.

“Hey, _____, talk to me.” Rex set his hands on your desk as he loomed nearby, his eyes seeking your gaze as that glassy look returned to your stare, “if I didn’t think you couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have given him your address… I’m sorry.”

After a long silence, you managed to gather your composure.

“It just didn’t turn out like you think it did, okay? Don’t rub it in. I couldn’t.” Your gaze sank further as you shrank in your seat.

“Shit, Cass,” Rex couldn’t help but smile as he slowly patted your shoulder, “Don’t sweat that shit, sorry I even put you in that situation.”

“You’re not going to make fun of me?”

“Hell, maybe not now,” Your partner was incorrigible, “But maybe reverse cowgirl’s not your position. We’ll get someone more to your standards next time.”

“You fucker,” He managed to get a laugh out of you as you punch him on the forearm, “I don’t need that, okay? I just want to work.”

“That’s your problem.”

“I know.”

Rex slowly stood back up as he glanced down at the offer that remained on your desk, “So…”

“So?” You glance up.

“Are you thinking of responding to this, or what?” He plants his pointer finger on the file folder on your desk. Your gaze follows his motions and you’re hit with a second wave of uncertainty.

You shrug, chewing your lower lip in thought, “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

* * *

 

The hum of the carrier in flight was a heavy silence between the two men sitting across from each other. While Reyes was at ease, sitting with his arms crossed and reclining against the back of his seat, McCree kept shifting uneasily, unable to keep his hands from wringing as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He let the brim of his hat shadow his gaze as he scanned the rest of the seating area with half-hearted attention. The coverage of his effects helped keep his stare from catching Reyes’, as well as help the outlaw keep his apprehension to himself.

Reyes hadn’t said a thing to him since they’ve rendezvoused at the airfield, merely gesturing for the cowboy to follow along. The Captain’s austerity alone was enough to silence an entire room, let alone one outlaw. Doctor Ziegler was also on the flight, but she had managed to fall asleep rather quickly in one of the bunks.

Out of sight, out of mind.

It had been almost two hours since take-off.

McCree almost thought he imagined hearing it, a quiet clearing of the throat that snatched his wandering attention to focus on the man sitting straight ahead of him. He raised his hand to push a thumb up against the brim of his hat, his stares locking with the Captain.

The man wasn’t glaring, but it was hard to contest that Reyes’ gaze could be described as anything else…

“Beg your pardon?” McCree inquired as he slowly sat up, staring back at Reyes with a brave face. McCree even managed a signature smile—even if he was met with the gruffest of expressions.

“You didn’t convince her, did you?” Reyes replied flatly. Immediately, McCree felt a pang of guilt, laughing off his failed antic with a wave of his hand.

“She wasn’t in the mood.”

“You idiot.” Reyes rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he pushed back further against his seat, sinking slightly into the cushions as he pushed his feet out further in front of him.

“Wasn’t her type, maybe.” McCree quipped lightheartedly, deflecting the notion that he’s not the Casanova he imagined himself to be, “or bad timing.”

“I meant,” Impatience crept into the Captain’s voice as he grumbled, “convince her to accept my offer.”

“Ah.” McCree’s eyes widened; he had plainly forgotten all about the actual circumstance of his visit.

“You forgot.” Reyes sighed, a groan escaping the man’s throat as he reached up to rub his gloved palm against his face, “Of course you did.”

“She didn’t seem all that interested in your proposition.” McCree said with ease; his lies were second nature. Unfortunately for him, Reyes had a better gauge for the outlaw’s demeanor—even better than you.

“You never told her. You were there for your own agenda.” The older man said flatly, not bothering to look at the cowboy who was momentarily stunned. McCree recovered quickly, leaning back in his seat now as he offered his best nonchalant smile.

“How’d you figure, Cap?”

“Because had you even brought up my proposition, she would’ve come with you. Maybe she wouldn’t have accepted the offer as you presented it, but she would have come to me to clarify. Maybe she’d even contest to the fact that I would have the gall to send you.” Reyes casually replied, waving his free hand as he continued to rub at his face.

McCree frowned, for once—his smile completely faded, “What d’you mean by that? She liked seein’ me, I could’ve convinced her if I remembered.”

“No, you couldn’t have.” Reyes snorted, “I would’ve preferred to make the offer in person, but there were other things to take care of while _you_ were supposed to settle that objective. All you had to do was bring her the proposal personally, even try to convince her—but I didn’t expect you to do so.”

“Now why you gotta belittle the lady behind her back, as if she’s too stupid to read what you’re proposin’.” McCree scoffed, trying to shift the attention away from himself—though Reyes saw through the ruse.

“You didn’t even manage to get in bed with her, did you.” For the first time, McCree saw something besides absolute disdain in the captain’s eyes. The cowboy would’ve sworn it was malice, but no—was that simply… amusement?

“Excuse you?” McCree offered a smile in his feigned confusion, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“She’s out of your league, kid.” Reyes chuckled lowly, shaking his head, “Maybe you’ve had girls who probably looked a lot less messed up and tired than Agent Cassidy, but you’re not getting that woman. Not as you are.”

That shame McCree last night came creeping back, grabbing a hold of his insides and turning knots in his stomach. Of course, with his roguish charms, he tried to play a more uncaring look on his features. His silence invited the captain to continue.

“Yeah, I figured she liked you—enough to stay her bullet when she could’ve domed you on the train. Hell, she could’ve said nothing about what happens to you after you were in custody—but she did. She seemed to think there was good in you, or some shit.”

McCree said nothing, that war raging in his head returning to full force.

“But at the same time, I saw that agent working on your case like no other—she wasn’t going to be able to take away the thought of you being a part of her work. Hell, I don’t think that girl’s capable of letting her hair down…” That pause in his tirade made McCree look up, and there was a look he’d certainly seen men express before. It made McCree rigid to the core, “yet, I regret not trying, would've been a hell of a challenge to loosen her up. Always wondered if the little señorita could walk her talk.”

The pride in Reyes’ eyes brought nothing but dread to McCree and the cowboy involuntarily swallowed his words—perhaps confused to why the captain was even talking like this with him.

It was guy talk… wasn’t it? This happened often, and McCree was always first to indulge such conversation. But about you? Why was this even happening?

“I liked the way she looked at me.” Reyes raised his chin in thought, a low rumbling laugh roiling in his chest, “she’ll be good to have on the roster.”

“You’ll have to convince her first.” McCree bit back, more aggressively than he anticipated.

“And I will.” Reyes smirked at that, “You have a lot to learn, kid. She’s off limits—but maybe we can work on that shit of a demeanor you call your personality. Given time, we’ll straighten you out properly, then maybe you’ll have a chance at a woman like Cassidy.”

Slowly, Reyes moved to his feet, leaving the cowboy to sit and stew in his thoughts, parting with a few choice words of wisdom, “change has to start somewhere, McCree.”

Off-limits?

Jesse glanced down at his hands as the captain walked off to the bunks, looking to get himself situated. It was still a long flight to Zurich and the skies had just turned dark outside the plane. He glanced out the window, his thoughts wandering to you.

Did you really just see him as work? Was that all he was to you? Of course, who was he to talk—all he wanted to do was bed you.

When did charm stop being enough? When did he have to start actually building character. When did he have to start giving a shit. McCree defied the thought—but the idea of right and wrong…he couldn’t help but think of you as it planted itself in the back of his brain.

He pushed the brim of his hat down onto his face, shielding himself from the world.

* * *

 

When you finally decided to take Reyes’ offer to join Overwatch, you were brought under the Captain’s command specifically—his criminal analyst alongside the organization’s terrorism response team. While he valued your ability on the field, he wanted to capitalize on your detective skills—your old fashioned police method was different and it gave you an edge last time.

It meant losing you as a liaison to the Bureau, but that’s where Rex became an asset. Since your best friend couldn’t join you in Zurich—he was your domestic connection. Rex and you laughed off the vocabulary on paper; you were really starting to sound like a world class spy. A suit. Just like you wanted.

Training went over a few months and you were bounced to different locations, from Zurich to Antarctica—there was a lot you had to become familiar with, and you were often on joint diplomatic sessions with Gerard Lacroix of the terrorism team. The months became a blur as you built a file on every agency you had to come in contact with—at the expense of all that personal free time you so delighted in (if ever). Rex was really your only contact with the outside world, and that was starting to become more and more sparse.

Reyes was probably your most constant company. Meetings here, meetings there, explaining why certain operations were being suggested to Morrison. There were things the captain was keeping from you, you figured that. Whatever these operations you had to explain with your analysis to Morrison were, felt like they weren’t quite the UN-friendly route that Overwatch usually engaged in.  

In any case, you were working more than ever and you relished in it.

Work. Food. Sleep. Gym. Work. Call from Heidi and Rex. Sleep. Gym…oh, food too? Again?

The cycle went on.

It wasn’t until you were finally settled in Zurich for the first time in months, a warm day in August, that you bumped into a firm body you hadn’t seen in…what felt like ages.

You were on your way to Gerard’s office, bringing a few things from Reyes’ desk to the terrorism specialist’s attention.

The files in your hand scattered as you rounded a corner and smacked headfirst onto the black tactical chest piece of a man who towered over you. This wasn’t the first time you’d done this, but usually it was the other way around—you’d speared plenty of people off their feet when you were determined to get from point a to point b.

Stars appeared in your vision as you rubbed your head reflexively, grimacing as you maneuvered downward, careful not to let your pencil skirt ride up too far from your knees. You reached out for your files, only to find that someone had gathered them from the floor.

Your eyes come to focus, seeing a pair of rugged hands offering the folders to you, “Ma’am, you alright? Dropped these.”

That voice made your eyes widen as your attention snaps upward, a few strands of hair coming lose from your tight bun shifting down over your face.

He couldn’t stop looking at you, partly out of pleasant surprise and somewhat out of a long forgotten apprehension he had pushed far from his mind since you last met.

You didn’t look like you had changed one bit, he’d heard your name tossed around but he tried not to pursue it. Reyes had him knee deep in Blackwatch ops—something you weren’t privy to and something that he couldn’t exactly share outside his unit. While you were off globetrotting, so was he—and the busywork kept him on track…after all, Reyes was still working on straightening him out. Had it worked? You’d yet to find out.

But, god, did you look like you were something to behold. As you slowly stood, his eyes wandered over you and while you were too flabbergasted to notice—he was certainly appreciating what the jet set life had done to you.

You looked nothing short of a professional suit: pencil skirt with a matching blazer, your Overwatch badge pinned to your lapel, your dark red hair in a tight bun, make-up finely made to accentuate your bright eyes but not enough to dampen your natural assets.

As the afternoon light bathed you from the high windows of the hall, he felt his breath leaving his body; you looked immaculate. While you didn’t do it on purpose, he remembered your gaze the first time you laid eyes on each other in that sketchy bar—and instead of wearing clothes that didn’t belong to your body… here you were, so true to you.

Reyes was right, you were no _girl_.

Likewise, you looked at this man with awe… who both changed and… didn’t. McCree still had his signature hat and that belt he couldn’t part with—but he now sported dark tac gear—something you’d never thought to see on his form.

Idly you wondered what was underneath it all... Ultimately, you never got a chance to see it.

You shook those thoughts away quickly, though found words wanting. It’s not like you didn’t know McCree was with Overwatch—you knew that months ago. Secretly, you looked forward to seeing him again, even if embarrassment was hard to let go. Sadly, one day, you’d be in Gibraltar, the next, overseeing an exchange in Numbani, then maybe you’ll come back to Zurich. So… seeing him became less and less of a priority.

It didn’t mean you didn’t want to see him.

You should say something.

“I should go.” McCree was first to say as he tipped his hat to you, “matters to attend to, Miss. You have a good day now.”

As he brushed past you, you felt your jaw drop—barely holding onto your files as it is. He didn’t look back over his shoulder as you did. Did he not recognize you?

McCree tried to avoid your gaze as he walked, hooking his thumbs into his pockets as he went on his way. What could he say to you? Right now? He figured that was enough.

That war he tried to leave when you first parted ways was returning with a fury to his head.

Again… what could he even say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this taking so long! It's a little dry again--but I wanted to show a bit of mentality between the characters.. Characterization, I suppose! I hope you enjoy and the next chapter is already underway!


	6. Starting Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You both want to clear the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wohho there, cap'n.
> 
> Please do leave a comment, would love your opinion! A bit nervous about this one, haha

**August**

_Always wondered if the little señorita could walk her talk._

You strode into the room with confidence as you brought a new file to Reyes.

As always, you were the one person that brought a slight smile to the ever-surly captain’s face. His nostrils would flare as he laughed through his nose, a genuine chuckle that came from deep within his chest. Something in the Blackwatch commander seemed lighter when you were around, like you two were cut from the same cloth. He’d speak in Spanish with you and you’d quip back quickly, hazarding a playful wink when you’d laugh along.

As you stood next to Reyes, watching him to thumb through your file, you’d bump out your hip to the side, confidently crossing your arms as you raise your chin to glance upward at the towering soldier. Your stance left little to the imagination for your lower half, your darkened pencil skirt barely hanging onto decency as it slipped higher upward away from your knee.

You probably didn’t notice that the top button of your blouse came undone as your pressed your arms closer to your body. The widened gap at your collar cast a shadow on your skin, keeping you modest—but the delicate outline of your neck was left exposed, daring any observer to look lower.

Reyes never missed an opportunity to appreciate what you had to offer, especially when you weren’t looking. He idly glanced over the file folder to get a better look at you.

Unfortunately, this time, you caught each other’s stare.

You were equally pleased to have his attention—in fact, you welcomed it.

As your stares lock, his focus on the file drains and your easy going smile fades along it.

You turned to look at Reyes completely who idly tossed the folder aside as he mirrored your motions. He smirked and an all-too-familiar expression dawned on his masculine features.

You reached up to pull the band out of your bun, your hair unravelling and falling over your shoulders. You shook your head as you ran your hand haphazardly through your undone mane, your locks shifting over your face and accentuating the wilder look on your inviting countenance.

Reyes didn’t need to be told twice.

He grabbed at your waist, his grin growing as you beckoned him with a finger. His other hand boldly moved along your lower back, shifting forward to trace down your thigh as his digits pressed against the tight fabric of your skirt. His fingers held onto your thigh so roughly, he left an imprint.

As his hand wandered downward, his fingers eventually met skin and you naturally brought your knee up along his outer thigh—letting him cup his fingers behind your knee and pull you to his waist.

A gentle sigh left your throat as he descended upon you.

 

* * *

 

 

McCree jolted awake in his bed, startled.

He sat up so quickly, he felt his head drain of blood as he clutched his face. A dull throb beat against his temples as the dizzying sensation rattled his head for a good minute. Groaning, he tried to make sense of what he just saw.

Saw.

Saw or dream?

Why was he even thinking of that? Let alone _dreaming_ it?

He tossed his head back and wordlessly cried out in exasperation, throwing aside his sheets as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. He stomped his way out of his bedroom, shoving the door open with his right hand as his left blindly searched for the light switch.

The sudden illumination of the adjacent bathroom made him squint as he looked at his ragged reflection. He hunched over the sink, hands clutching at opposite ends of the counter.

He stared long and hard at that mug staring back at him.

“The hell’s the matter with you…” He breathed as reached up to scratch his stubble, slowly bringing himself up to stand straight, “Jus’… get yerself together.”

He closed his eyes briefly, turning from the mirror as he stumbled out of the bathroom, one hand at the wall to turn off the blinding light.

As his eyes opened to his now darkened quarters, his attention turned to the jumbled sheets on his bed. His mind wandered at the thought of it being so empty. How long had it been that way? Unoccupied by a softer body.

He snorted to himself, shaking his head in utter disbelief. He cringed, certain he was internally bleeding from disgust and embarrassment.

Had his personal life been so dry as of late he couldn’t help but dream of his captain getting some action.

Then again, ever since he was drafted (or conscripted, depending on what kind of mission he was in), he hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to find anyone to warm his bed. Well, sure, there had been a few after his failed attempt with you—but none that were remarkable, he didn’t even bother to add those notches to his bed post.

As full of himself as that seemed… He just had a hard time letting you go.

He managed to step out onto the balcony of his quarters, lighting a cigar and idly cradling it at the corner of his lips as he stared out into the night vista below. He didn’t bother to get dressed, leaning against the railing in nothing but his boxers.

The compound was rather serene in the wee hours of the night, the view from his room offered a nice panorama of the training grounds—the shooting range, in particular, was easy to watch from this vantage point.

It wasn’t too uncommon to see some movement from the field and the range, often times the training bots were left on and followed their routine motions across the grass and obstacles. Sometimes he’d get to watch some of the recruits training, often amused by their frustration.

His thoughts finally settled, fleeting as his eyes fluttered close, letting the lull of the quiet scenery envelop him in smoke and midnight dew. He tried not to think of you, or the captain, or more importantly—what was between you and the captain.

What _was_ between the two of you?

No, that’s not important.

McCree idly sank back against the wall of the balcony, the surface of drywall behind him scratching against his skin. He didn’t care, he was simply enjoying his respite in nicotine.

He almost thought he was dreaming again, hearing a lovely voice echo out in the walkway under his perch.

“Oh yeah? How is the little tyke?” You inquire with a chuckle, your phone tucked under your ear and your shoulder. You hadn’t bothered with a headset; your calls to the Hunters were never long.

“You want to hear him?” The voice through the line laughed in return.

“I’m surprised you two are still awake! What time is it over there?” You paused below an archway ahead. McCree perked up from repose, though he didn’t know where to move from there; should he go back into the shelter of his room or move to the railing to watch you?

You were never quite hyper vigilant at one in the morning, usually at your lowest in terms of productivity. You had no clue who was watching you, or even that someone’s quarters were overlooking your favorite haunt. It was your time to ‘rest’; you were either about to finally sleep or kill time at the range.

Tonight, you chose the range. Always helped you clear your head.

Between a few new proposals to run by Morrison and a growing situation with Lacroix’s office—you couldn’t sleep off worry if you tried.

And to be fair… you were also reeling from seeing your favorite outlaw (previously known as, anyway).

You were surprised by how much it stung for him to blow you off like that. You tried not to linger on it for too long… so… here you were, at the range.

“You’re talking to -me- about time? It’s only 5pm over here!” Rex chortled as you lifted your wrist to glance at the time.

“Ah shit, right… eight hours ahead.”

“Well, you can’t hear him after all. Heidi just got the little rug rat to nap.” There was a short pause, “How are you, anyway?”

“I’m alive.” You started as you grabbed your phone off your shoulder and held it up to your ear with your hand. You turned to rest your back against the wall, idly patting the duffel bag slung on your shoulder as you spoke in a tired but casual tone, “working like crazy.”

“So, enjoying yourself.” Rex remarked flatly.

McCree peered at you, curiosity getting to him as he shifted towards the railing, leaning over to get a better listen to your conversation. He couldn’t quite hear Rex, but nevertheless, he listened intently as soft puffs of smoke escaped his lips.

“I guess so,” You sighed as you idly investigated your free hand, shoulders sinking slightly as you spoke, “tons of work related stress right now. Can’t really talk about it, but… it’s tough.”

“Hang in there.”

“I am,” You managed to smile and McCree felt knots forming in the pit of his stomach as your face sparked to life—even if you did look like a hot mess. The night light reflecting off the walkways cast a gaunt shadow on your features, emphasizing the dark circles under your eyes. When was the last time you’ve slept?

McCree’s expression softened as you continued speaking, “but I guess I’m happy to be doing something productive. I do miss our stake-outs though. Reyes doesn’t like me on the field too much, but it’s not like I’m stuck behind a desk all day.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time with Captain Surly.” Rex snorted.

“Well, it’s not by choice.” McCree couldn’t help but loft a brow at that, “he’s constantly calling me into his office to handle things with Morrison. I guess I don’t mind it; I mean… The commander’s easy on the eyes and the captain can be a pretty nice guy.”

“Oh yeah, what kind of nice?”

(Of course he ignores you complimenting your commander—though, to be fair, it was a given that the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, poster boy was the prettiest man on campus.)

The way you paused, your hand rising to your lip as you chewed on your thumb in thought made McCree lean closer, as if he was trying to hear Rex’s side of the conversation. He was invested now—especially with how your body language seemed to shift from casual to demur.

“He’s just nice! I know a lot of people seem to think he’s just wound up and angry all the time—which, to be fair, he’s grouchy when people slack. Alternatively, it might just be that he has resting bitch face or something!” You laughed nervously. Why were you defending your captain to Rex? You were just asking to be teased. McCree peered at you with suspicion; was he right to have thought that maybe you and the captain had a thing?

Ok, maybe he shouldn’t have dreamed about it (he cringed).

“You sound like you like him.”

“I _appreciate_ him. I appreciate a lot of the men and women here.”

“Men especially.”

You pressed your head back against the wall, an exasperated laugh escaping your throat, “I’m only human.” You turned your head as your eyes closed, your face now in full view of the peeping cowboy. His eyes widened, wondering if you had spotted him—but he quickly realized you weren’t even looking.

“You really should try finding a solution to that drought, my dear friend.” Rex chided with a gentle laugh.

“Funny enough,” you cleared your throat as you opened your eyes, though your gaze was observing the ground beside you, “I ran into someone today…”

If McCree leaned any further into the railing, he might’ve fallen right off.

“Oh yeah? Who was that?”

“Mr. Tombstone.” The small smile that warmed your expression tugged at the knots in the cowboy’s stomach and he suddenly realized he had been staring for so long, he’d forgotten to blink. His knuckles were growing white from how much he was squeezing the railing under him.

“Really now,” Rex quipped, “What happened? Did you pick up where you last left off?”

You could only imagine Rex waggling his brow and you couldn’t help but laugh heartily, raising your hand once more to smack your palm against your forehead.

“No, he looked… really nice though, gorgeous—you know, like before.” You sighed and McCree deflated along with you, somewhat confused, “cleaned up hella nice too. He was in tactical gear, similar specs to what the captain has. Wonder if they work together.”

You had no idea.

“And you never saw him until now?” Rex pondered aloud, “Just how damn busy does your title keep you, eh?”

“Never caught a whiff of him—guess we’re on different time tables, or wavelengths completely. Figures,” you paused to laugh in disbelief, “what I wouldn’t give to end this fucking dry spell with a ride like that.”

McCree almost choked on his cigar. He stifled his cough, reaching up to put out his light as he covered his mouth. He was painfully aware of how close you could be to hearing him (and realizing that he’d been eavesdropping this entire time). Now was not the time to interrupt your  _honesty_ , he’d never have the fucking chance again.

And holy shit, was it just getting good.

“Hey, when you’re thirsty…” Rex could not stop laughing on his end.

“Oh god,” You rub your eyes with your thumb and forefinger, “I would love to drink. _That_ … that, all of that. But he didn’t even give me the time of day.”

McCree moved his lower jaw in thought; he just recalled having dismissed you…shit.

“Well, you’re only about… what, six months late?”

“Yeah, I know, I deserve it. I don’t know what I was thinking; I know I would’ve still been alone in the morning, but then I could finally put those fantasies to rest, right?” You grumble, your smile never leaving your wonderful face. McCree slowly peeled away from the edge of the railing, the metal left a fine ridge on his palms as he glanced down at them, reaching up to set his cigar aside.

He didn’t know what to make of your words, especially since… well… he assumed you just saw him as work—never as something to enjoy. You never let your hair down, after all. Reyes had drilled it into his head that you couldn’t possibly be interested in a guy like him.

Not as he was.

He couldn’t help but laugh soundlessly at the thought.

A woman like you with a scoundrel like him.

Hell, he wasn’t an idiot—but he felt like he needed to set something right. Something to finally put that self-depreciating war in his head to rest, be it a loss or a win.

Maybe you just wanted sex.

He wasn’t opposed to that.

Armed with a muddied resolve to do _something_ , McCree grabbed his hat from the nightstand, squeezed into a pair of pants, and paused at the door to consider even putting on a shirt.

He wasn’t that desperate (was he?).

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a button up before shooting out the door. He started down the stairs towards the training grounds, hastily fastening his shirt as he walked down to the archway were you were once standing.

You just wrapped up your conversation and were taking your few first steps to head to the range, slipping your cellphone into your duffel bag as hurried steps began to echo in the hall. You paused to look up, confused. No one was up this late except for you.

“Hey!” Your eyes widen in surprise, that voice catching you off guard.

“H-hey!” You respond quickly, stumbling over an impossibly short phrase with great success, “Mr. McCree, good evening!”

“_______,” He sighs your name, trying to catch his breath as he jogs to a halt right behind you. You turn just in time to see the top of his shirt widen and stretch with every haggard breath taken. It takes all your strength to stop yourself from staring. That upmost button looked like it was about to burst.

He was fairly built the last time you saw him, sure—but without his tactical vest, you saw that the military regimen that all Overwatch personnel were subject to was really taking to him. Makes sense to how he could stop you on your warpath—he had gained mass and it was plainly obvious as the fabric of his shirt stretched over the expanse of his arms, the curvature of his upper pectoral peeking through the opening at his collar.

Don’t look.

“Yes! Yes, Jesse, can I help you?” First name basis it was then! Your eyes widen as you try to focus on his face. Just his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed and you spied a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. Your eyes snap back to attention as you swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Yeah, bet ya’ can,” He chuckled as he stood up straight, finally able to breathe properly, “let me join you. Goin’ pigeon shootin’ right?”

He gestures to your duffel bag and you all but forgot that you were even going to the range.

“Shooting… Oh, yes!” You quickly pat the bag with both hands, “I was about to,” you then wildly gesture behind you towards the range, “go shooting!”

You pause, your brow furling. How did he know that?

Seems like he read your mind, “Saw ya’ down the hall, and there’s not much beyond this area— ‘sides the training grounds. Remembered you liked to shoot for fun.”

Of course he remembers. The fact that he does makes the color on your cheeks blossom.

“Right…”

“Right.”

You both avert your gaze and awkwardly sit in silence, rubbing at the backs of your necks before looking back at each other. He’s first to crack his signature smile and you’re briefly stunned with how naturally it came to him. He really was no less handsome than the last you crossed paths.

A carefree stud like that… doesn’t go for wound up miser like you.

Yeah, just focus on that.

“Not hearin’ a no,” He began, his expression softening as his eyes become half-lidded. Whether or not that meant he was relaxing or playing coy—you could never tell. All you knew is that it jolted your pulse.

“I didn’t say no,” You quip in the most light-hearted way you could. You flourish your hand as you take a step aside—unable to keep yourself from inviting him. He flashed a happy grin as he followed after you.

It couldn’t be too bad, after all, you’d be armed. If anything happens that’s too embarrassing—you could shoot yourself.

The silence between you grew as you kept your head down, leading the way towards the shooting grounds.

He was trying to figure out why you were so flabbergasted. Last time, obviously it was because he quite literally swept you off your feet (or bumped your face into the ground, whatever works). But now, why were you so panicked? You wanted to talk to him… didn’t you?

_Ride him…_ you said.

He smirked; maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but—he could feel both his heads talking at this point. One head wanted to simply clear the air, maybe start things over. The other… well…

He broke the silence first as you found a suitable lane, waiting behind you as you programmed the training bots at the console.

“Sorry ‘bout earlier, missy, I really was in a hurry.” He lied. Not like you could tell, you were too busy focusing on why your face was so hot. You fumbled over the input on the console.

“No apologies needed, McCree,” you offer a smile as you turn around, moving to prepare your rifle, “I was in a hurry too, anyway. Reyes has me running all over the compound. Sometimes I feel like a glorified paper-pusher.”

“I bet. I know I haven’t seen ya’ since you’ve joined—figured you weren’t on the field much since we’re both under Captain Grumps. He, uh, mentions you every once and a while.” McCree watched you as he leaned against the left wall of the lane, bringing his arms up to rest the back of his head against his joined palms.

“Does he?” That’s a surprise, “He doesn’t talk much about personnel beside how pretty Doctor Ziegler is…every once and a while.”

“Always with that stupid smile on his face too, huh.”

You both chuckle, “So he does it with you too?”

“I reckon it’s ‘cause he likes to annoy Morrison. Nothin’ makes the commander redder than the mention o’ the pretty lil’ doctor.”

“Huh, I guess you’re right. He only does mention Ziegler when Morrison’s in the room.” You remarked with a slight tilt of your head.

“Always thought the doc was too sweet for his tastes.” McCree snickered.

He watched you line up your shot, his eyes wandering as he studied every precise shift in your form. He was never one for rifles yet he couldn’t help but appreciate the way you craned your neck, the way you ran your tongue along your lips before pursing them in concentration, and how you arched your back as you pulled the trigger. His thoughts drifted as you bent over your duffel bag to grab an ammunition box.

One of the seams along your right thigh was coming undone, a little string unravelling.

“You don’t think Reyes ever fancies anyone?”  Your question snaps him to attention and brought his dream reeling back. He’d feel a similar embarrassment to the one you’ve harbored for so long.

_Yeah, you._ He thought.

He shrugs, averting his gaze as you stand up to look at him, “Aye, I’m sure he does, doll. He works with lots o’ pretty faces. Hell, you’ve met Captain Amari, haven’t you?”

A content sigh escapes you as your chest deflates, “I have… I’d love to get a few pointers from her.”

“A damn good shot.”

Of course the dignified woman was beautiful. But you kind of felt like you weren’t on that ‘pretty faces’ list. In a sea of nines and tens, you figured yourself to be a solid… seven and a half.

You chuckled the thought. McCree lofted a brow.

“Somethin’ funny?”

“Just, amusing myself.” You retort with a playful smile, lining up another set of shots. You land a hit on each moving bot—not all headshots, but you were just warming up. You set your rifle aside and move away from the lane briefly to re-tie your hair into a pony tail.

Little did you know that as you were shooting, all the cowboy had been doing was mustering the courage up to be honest. Not play it off, not flirt, just—come straight about what he was thinking (maybe a _little_ bit of flirting).

It took you a second to realize that there was heat coming from behind you and you quickly whirl around to come face to face with McCree’s chest. You try not to look too dumbfounded. Or stare. Don't stare.

That button was just asking to come undone.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his gaze, widening once more. He brought his arms up to your sides, gesturing a surrender of sorts.

“Listen, I jus’ want to cut past the shit. I really did want to apologize for earlier.” He began, his voice quiet.

“You already did…” You murmur softly in return. You reflexively pull back, only for your back to hit the wall of the lane that separated it from the others.

“Not exactly,” He sighed as he raised one hand to plant his palm on the wall, right next to your head, “I was avoidin’ you.”

Oh.

Your face sank and you lowered your chin, “I, uh…”

He blinked, realizing the gravity of his words, “Not consciously, _______, jus’… bein’ polite. Last we saw each other, I thought, maybe I’d overstepped my boundaries.”

Was he really… apologizing for that night? But that was on you, wasn’t it?

Your silence bade him to continue.

“If ya’ hadn’t stopped me, who knows how far I would’ve gone.” He lowered his gaze then and the genuine withdrawal of confidence in his voice made you look up, only to find that the brim of his hat was casting a shadow over his eyes. If your face was hot before, it was certainly on fire now.

Was he… apologizing for… almost taking advantage of you?

“W-well, hey… It’s not your fault. It’s not like I didn’t want to.” You clear your throat, wanting nothing more than just to cup his cheeks and reassure him that—well, you would’ve taken advantage of the situation if you weren’t so ‘disciplined’.

“Was the alcohol, wasn’t it?” He huffed with a soft chuckle.

“Not entirely, no.”

At that, he glanced up and the two of you managed to lock gazes for once this entire awkward night.

That small iconic smirk was returning to the cowboy’s features and he tilted his head slightly as he pondered your words. At that, you drew your breath sharply from your teeth and shot eyes to your feet (Oh look, he’s wearing boots with spurs, isn’t that nice).

“Oh no?” Clearing the air indeed. He was trying not to sound like his hopes were too high.

“No.” You cleared your throat—god did you need water all of a sudden.

He peeled his hand back from the wall, standing now at a modest distance from you as he tried to read you. You writhed in his gaze, feeling like you were nothing short of a school girl pressing her pointer fingers together in the worst of situations.

Meanwhile, he just couldn’t understand you.

“Hell, ______, do ya’ want me or not?”

You felt your mortal soul leaving your body a second time. Thank god it was just an expression or you’d faint.

“That’s… such a loaded question,” You manage to breathe.

“I just want to know so I can either stop chasin’ you—because, well, the captain’s right or— “

“Wait, what? What did the captain say?” Wait. “You’re chasing me?”

He blinked, lofting a brow.

“Well, shit, yeah—I mean I was… I had to stop myself. Grumps said I didn’t really have a chance with a woman like you.”

“Why the hell would he think that?” Now you’re confused. I mean, it’s not like you weren’t before…

McCree leaned back as he crossed his arms, smirking, “Said I wasn’t the kind o’ man that deserved a woman like you. Emphasis on woman, I guess.”

“I’m… flattered.” The captain was assuming you were swimming in a sea of suitors, apparently?

“Wasn’t your type, I assumed.”

“You don’t know that.” You huffed, now annoyed. Flattered, flustered, but also annoyed.

A silence befell the two of you once again and slowly, you both look up to gaze at each other. He was first to smile, as always. He felt like he said enough… He was trying but… honesty is hard—and if he was completely honest, he would’ve—Oh… here it comes…

“I like ya’, Cass. I did come by that night to see if I could... charm ya’ to joinin’ me in bed. Partly, it was the way I wanted to ‘thank’ you—but the other part was that, I thought you plenty pretty.”

Okay… go on.

He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck with one hand, the other to adjust his hat, “When ya’ said no—I realized that, well, you probably deserved better than a one-night stand. Captain was right to say that… hell, I ain’t _really_ your type. Maybe you thought me pretty too (yeah you do), well, fancy anyway. But, uh, not the kind you wanted to associate yourself with—regularly.”

Another pit of silence. What could you say? He watched you, though the hope that you’d reciprocate was slowly draining from his eyes.

“I do like you, you know.” You murmur, “Just… it was… well, you were a suspect and you were technically in custody—so it just felt wrong.”

“I see,” He considered that as he looked away, gazing at the bots that had recharged and returned to scrambling on the field. A strange feeling washed over him. He was both elated and nervous—your new confirmation made his pulse race, yet… his easy-going cynicism held in place, were you just saying that for his benefit? A part of him wanted to hold credence to Reyes’ words.

Or Reyes could go fuck himself.

“So what do you think now?” He inquired lightly, his attention turning towards you once more.

“Uh,” You scrambled to make a joke—ok, this isn’t a joke, but you said it with a chuckle, “possibly fraternization?”

“We hadn’t done anything yet.” McCree smirked at that, though he looked relieved at your humor returning.

You shrug.

“Do you want ta’?” He tilted his head as he lowered his hands from his chest.

“Want what?” You twitch slightly and hopefully you didn’t just blink asynchronously.

At that, he laughed—that genuine chuckle purring from deep within his chest and resonating in your ears with whole hearted joy. He wiped something from the corner of his eye and shrugged right back at you—before taking a step and reaching out to hold you by your cheek.

Once again, your eyes naturally drew closed.

His lips gently pressed against yours, the taste and scent of tobacco reinvigorating those memories of your first exchange.

_So that’s what he tastes like_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO KNOWS WHAT COULD HAPPEN NEXT, RIGHT?!


	7. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well now you're in trouble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAINFULLY SELF INDULGENT.

**August**

McCree’s trying not to think with his second head but you really don’t make it any easier for him.

You met his gentle kiss with a quiet gasp, exhilarated, though you try to make space. With nowhere to go, your backside was now firmly pressed against the wall as McCree inched his way closer to you. If you were so opposed to the idea, you didn’t seem to show much conviction; your flustered writhing and meek moans only spur him further.

Would you be inclined to, you could stop him. Curse your anti-indulgent ways.

 _I can’t_.

He raised one hand to keep his hat steady, shielding your passionate exchange from whatever prying eyes may even be open this late into the night. For your privacy, after all.

If you weren’t so caught up in trading desperate words with your tongues, you may have been charmed by his courtly tendencies (if even necessary, at this point). Instead, you let him envelop you in his warmth, his body now pressing playfully against yours as he moved his palm from the wall by your head. His hand slipped upwards slowly over you as his body became flushed against yours, moving his arm onto the wall with his elbow resting right over your shoulder. His fingers caught stray locks of your hair as he brushed the side of your head, his fist closing as he stayed from the temptation to grab a hold of you.

_Trust me._

Your hands travelled up the cowboy’s center, tenderly (arguably timidly) exploring the fastenings that held his shirt in place. You could feel his firm form press against your fingers and you wanted nothing more than to run them all along his chest to confirm your wildest suspicions. Your id was going livid.

Your unrest did not go unnoticed as McCree lifted his chin, lips brushing against your cheek as he whispered into your ear. His voice made you grit your teeth, temptation running rampant in your veins as you pressed the back of your head hard against the metal behind you. How much more could you take? His tone deepened with desire, barely over a hush as his gravelly voice called your name.

_Don’t make me do this._

“What’s the matter, doll? You’re tremblin’.” His breath was hot against your ear, inevitably making you shiver even more as you felt the invisible strings from your lower half pull at your resistance.

You swallowed a lump in your throat, letting out a soft sigh as your breath caught at your throat. Your words failed you. He lowered his hand from his hat to your shoulder, proceeding to trace downward to slip his fingers in between yours. The intimate touch of his palm flush against yours set your cheeks ablaze.

“Darlin’, am I scarin’ you?” You could feel his lips upturn into a smile as he lowered his head to explore the crook of your neck.

You shivered again.

_I won’t hurt ya’._

“No, no,” You finally manage, “I’m sorry…”

“For?” He inquired, pausing briefly to adjust his hat. His lips never left the touch of your skin.

“Being bad at this,” You admit with a weak moan, the feeling of teeth sinking lightly into your skin sparking a jolt down your spine—your hips reflexively bucking upward against his waist.

He definitely liked that reaction.

His free hand shifted away from your head, travelling south, making stops to squeeze your arm and briefly hold your other hand. You felt lightheaded as time stood still in a calm quiet. While his form was flush against yours, he held your hands gently—it was then you realized there was a slight tremble in his grasp.

_What if I want you to?_

Your eyes flutter open and you find he was staring at you, waiting for the moment that your gazes would lock once more. Your heart skipped a beat; he was taking it slow for you.

“I’ve got time, sunshine. Don’t you worry.” He murmured—you swear he was reading your mind.

In reality, he was just as apprehensive; this was…vastly different from what he was used to. His body may want to react just like any man would—but tenderness was not a luxury he was accustomed to.

His pulse thudded against his throat, eyes dilating as he drank in the oceans of your stare. He didn’t quite understand what was so captivating about your reactions—but he noticed every slight twitch and shift in your body. He wanted more.

Between this anxiety and resisting the urge to ravage you, your cowboy certainly didn’t know how long he could last.

He knew you needed to take it slow, oh so slow… it was painful.

His need was roiling under the confines of fabric, enveloped in the heat of your body as your legs parted for his knee when he pushed himself further in your space. You naturally let him through and it wasn’t long until he broke hold of your hands to place his hand on your lower back. This also freed you to do as you pleased.

His strong fingers pushed into your curves, drawing breathless sighs from your lips—weak protests to his advances.

_Ya’ gotta give in first._

You leaned your head in, resting your chin on his shoulder, trapping your wandering hands against his chest. His hand dips lower, gripping you from your backside now as he pulled your waist further from the wall—closing what little distance remained between your waists. Your eyes clamp shut, that familiar feeling of his hunger now adamantly cornered between your legs and leaving a lasting impression. You could feel your own warmth swelling in response; damn your clothes for keeping you apart.

You grasp a handful of cloth in each hand as you balled them up into fists.

_I want this._

Your eyes shot open as you pulled back, “N-not here.”

McCree’s lips were at your neck once more, playful tongue indulging in the taste of your skin. Your minute reactions to every ministration made him buck his hips up hard onto you. It took him several gyrations to realize you had paused, pulling back to look at you with a bewildered expression. He was somewhat exasperated, out of breath, and his hat was balancing carefully out of place on the back of his head—stray locks a mess over his handsome face.

“You… uh,” He closed his eyes to take a deeper breath, managing coherent words, “had a better idea?”

The head with his brain was slowly catching up to its more ravenous counterpart. He blinked as his panting subsided.

“Really, you want this… whatever this is… here?” You were equally exasperated, though more at your inability to cave in completely. You release his shirt—though that top button did come undone, exposing a patch of hair beneath.

“Heh,” the cowboy couldn’t help but smirk as he looked away from you briefly, taking in his surroundings with a lofted brow, “guess this isn’t the place I’d pictured it either.”

“You’ve imagined this?” You blink, a blush burning at your cheeks.

“Maybe not as much as you, darlin’,” He teased as he offered a sidelong glance, your eyes widening at the comment in embarrassment. He turned his head to take you in full once more, “But, yeah, I reckon I have… more times than I care to admit.”

He has no idea.

“And what ended up happening? Did I end up stopping you there too?” You exhaled with a depreciative chuckle.

His smile killed you every time and his growl made your loins ache, “Aye, you did,” you frowned at that, “but it made me want ya’ twice as much.”

He leaned in to press the tip of his nose against yours, umber gaze piercing to your very soul. You could die right now and you wouldn’t even contest it.

“So, _______, ya’ never answered my question…” Your heart skipped a beat, “do ya’ want me or not?”

Your mouth moved, daring to speak, voice failing you. This man may have had his length throbbing right up against your covered sex, but you swore he had the patience of a saint. His half-lidded gaze beckoned you to speak.

You swallowed your words frantically before managing the faintest, “Yes!”

 

* * *

 

The next panicked minutes were a blur, the frenzied commotion between you and McCree barely allowed you time to snatch your duffel bag from the lane. He never let you go, stumbling over you as he desperately clung to your body while guiding you to his quarters.

Your passionate gasps and quiet moans echoed in the halls, whispers hushed as you were both determined to have some semblance of discretion.

There was a moment when McCree failed you, however. He drove you against the wall as you managed up the stairs onto his floor, his shove drawing a surprised laugh from you. You nearly dropped your duffel bag as an impish grin appeared on his face, that growl you adored ringing in your ears.

“My apologies, miss,” He hummed against your neck as he descended on you again—drawing more laughter from you.

Neither of you were thinking with the right head at this point.

You were drunk with lust and he was on his last thread of decency.

“This isn’t a room!” You smack his shoulder.

“Well, I beg your pardon.” McCree clicked his tongue as he scooped you up from the wall with ease, forcing another cry of laughter from you.

You draped your arms around his neck as he held you like a bride, marching to his room with a _rigid_ resolve. Although he fumbled with turning the handle, he nearly kicked his door open. You stared at each other and you were about to laugh again—but his mouth interrupted you.

As the door closed behind him, you were both in the dark once more—your bodies’ only illumination was the moonlight peeking through the balcony.

A calm moment passed over the two of you as your eyes caught each other’s gaze, the thought now sinking in.

 _There’s nothing stopping you from taking me_.

 _No, there really ain’t_.

You dropped your bag, letting the thud resonate in the silence. A soft grunt escaped his throat as he tossed you with ease onto the bed.

You had to appreciate how easily he managed that as you crawled backwards onto your elbows—but your thoughts strayed as he lowered himself over you, climbing on after you with a predatory look in his stare.

If you weren’t trembling before, you were certainly trembling now. It wasn’t fear that gripped you by the stomach and lower, but you were certainly afraid of how easily this was coming.

You’re both adults… consenting… you wouldn’t get into trouble. He’s not a criminal right anymore… he’s your equal. It’s not professional, no… but it’s certainly not illegal to want this.

However, watching McCree slowly move onto his knees and remove his hat, tossing it aside, and lower his hands to his chest to undo his shirt, one button at a time… was downright sinful. He read the hunger in your eyes with delight—relishing in the delay that made you writhe with longing.

“Oh god,” you whimper.

He smiled gently, though a hint of a smirk lingered in his eyes. He said nothing as you pathetically pressed your raised knees together, your final act of restraint. He inched closer, letting his shirt slide down his shoulders and off onto the bed.

“Jesse,” You gasp as he easily pushes your knees apart, settling between your legs.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He tilted his head as he watched you squirm in his presence. He’d be lying if he didn’t feel elated with pride—seeing a woman like you be so disarmed, let alone, be disarmed in his bed—well, it made his confidence shoot through the roof.

In the meantime, you couldn’t stop staring at what he had presented to you. While his tanned skin was simply shadows of blue in the moonlight, you admired the creases and curvature of taut muscle that dominated his bare torso.

You’d forever commit to memory how he was bathed in the pale light and how the hairs on his chest felt under your fingertips.

When did you reach out to touch him?

His smile became a smirk as your gaze wandered over him, both your hands now freely travelling up and down his form as your lips form a soft o in awe. He didn’t seem to mind, his own gaze now settling on your chest as your breaths became heavy.

“Oh god,” you repeat as he took one of your wandering hands and guided it to the top button of his pants.

“_______,” He murmured out to you, a strain in his voice now becoming apparent. Was that impatience? His fingers wrapped over yours as he deftly forced your fingers to undo that pesky fastening.

“I want this.” You declare with quiet determination, impatience in your voice was less so for him than a promise to you.

“Then take it, darlin’.” McCree suggested with a quiet chuckle, “I’m waitin’ on you.”

“This is pure sin.” Were you really arguing with yourself right now?

“We ain’t in a church, love.” He growled again as he lowered himself onto you, your hands flailing off him and to your sides as you clutched the sheets below you.

He was fighting hard, he truly was, to go at your pace—but he was _starving_.

He planted an angry kiss on your lips, a quick mark of his territory before descending to your neck once more. As his teeth sank against your skin, you cried out his name in surprise, your body arcing onto his form. You pressed your head back against the bed, eyes opening wide to see the open balcony behind you, curtains flailing in the midnight breeze.

You felt a heavy hand push onto your side, slithering under your shirt and grasping at your covered chest, his fingers clutching down on that final piece of clothing keeping him from what he desired. As he tugged hard on your bra, you felt a pleasurable pinch at your neck. He drew your skin between his teeth, leaving visible marks of his ventures all along your collar.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to be roughly pulled up over your head, that bit of clothing joining his discarded button up.

If you didn’t realize you were slick before, you’d certainly notice now. You were so caught up in McCree’s lips moving along your collar and to the soft gap between your breasts, you didn’t realize he’d slipped his hand down your leggings, the stretchy material allowing him to crawl his fingers into the folds of your sex.

Your eyes flutter open, a shocked cry escaping you as your spine bowed to the sheer pleasure of his fingers curling upward along your sensitive skin. A playful chuckle escaped the confines of the dip in your chest.

Someone was pleased.

He lifted his chin to look to you, “should I stop?”

“Fuck no!” You must’ve looked surprisingly angry as his smile grew to a Cheshire grin. His fingers toyed with your skin and you winced as he sent another wave of sensations up your spine.

“Goin’ too fast?”

“A-a little,” you stammered—though the declaration didn’t seem to stop him from playing with that extra-sensitive nub of skin. You grit your teeth as you writhed beneath his touch, he was making you reel with his thumb and forefinger.

“Fine, fine,” He huffed playfully as he withdrew his hand from your leggings, the action making your legs collapse to his sides. Not long after, he was back to tasting your skin and as his arms wrapped under you to fumble with that last pesky piece of underwear across your chest, he returned to swapping famished words with your lips.

Time seemed to slip away then, with your eyes closed—your greedy exchange could’ve lasted seconds or minutes. Neither of you cared.

But neither of you were careful, especially you, and you didn’t realize that your phone had been buzzing in your bag.

You weren’t on call for something, were you?

 

* * *

 

 

This was unlike you…to leave the phone ringing for longer than one cycle—let alone go to voicemail… eight times.

Gerard was trying hard to keep his shit together, but growing tensions concerning the anti-terrorist team made the man a little more paranoid when he was off the clock. He shouldn’t be contacting anyone at three in the morning, especially not the Blackwatch captain when Gabriel Reyes was finally getting some much-needed shut eye.

It took a good amount of hard liquor to get Reyes’ mind at rest and most interruptions of his beauty sleep resulted in a fuck ton of ire.

Gerard couldn’t reach you because… well… at first, you were shooting. Now, you were swapping spit with a Blackwatch operative—unbeknownst to Lacroix or Reyes. Gerard shouldn’t be pining for your attention so hard at three in the morning, but only Reyes and you had the information he needed—the information that would quiet his concerns.

If you had taken the blow first, Reyes wouldn’t be the one up at this godforsaken hour, angrily telling the French man to shut the hell up and go to sleep.  

Reyes sat up from his bed, taking what little was left of his patience to not scream as Gerard poured his fears into the captain’s ears.

“Just, please, Capitaine, just run the plan by me… one more time. I could’ve sworn— “

“Lacroix, I already fucking did,” Reyes growled into the phone, his free hand clutching the side of his head as a headache throbbed at his temple, “you’re not more exposed than anyone else out there—and I swear to you, Cassidy’s report is secured in your safe. No one can reach it, only you.”

“Then why isn’t she answering?” Gerard’s voice was strained with fearful desperation.

“I don’t know, Gerard—maybe because she’s fucking sleeping?”

“She usually— “

“You need to let her fucking rest. You need to let me rest. Hell, Lacroix— _you_ fucking need rest. I’m hanging up. Don’t you dare call.”  

Reyes left it at that, nearly crushing his phone as he jabbed the ‘end’ button with his right pointer. He sat in silence as his ragged breathing calmed to slow, deep breaths. Things were slowly registering in his waking mind; there was something strange afoot.

When have you ever slept through people’s calls?

He grumbled your name as he rolled his eyes, swinging his feet over the side of his bed. He leaned his elbows onto his knees as he idly checked his schedule on his phone. You two had meeting bright and early at seven in the morning.

Maybe he should come and check in on you; if you didn’t answer Gerard’s calls—perhaps you were feeling unwell?

He shouldn’t be so concerned, but something felt wrong. You were one of his most attentive associates—and you certainly were best at open lines of communications.

Maybe something happened to you?

He caught himself mid-scramble to get dressed. He didn’t even manage to pull a tank on, just a hoodie over his naked torso.

“Shit…” He snorted, amused yet annoyed. Gerard’s paranoia was getting to him.

It’s three fucking am. You were sleeping.

“Doesn’t hurt to check.” He grumbled as he partially zipped his hoodie and moved to his door, pulling a beanie over his head.

Because of how often he had walked you back to your quarters, he had the path ingrained in his head—making his way over with ease, even if he was still waking himself up. Coffee would do the trick, but your tired smile did wonders too.

He stopped himself, a step before reaching your floor.

Your tired smile?

 _Shit_ … he really was tired.

He shook the thought from his head, snapping his focus on ascertaining your well-being.

He gave your door a few swift knocks.

Silence.

He frowned and tried again, met with nothing. Of course, he didn’t know you never made it back.

“Oye, Cassidy!” He called out, balling his fist tightly as he knocked louder against your door.

He took a step back and huffed with frustration. Paranoia seemed to be infectious.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed your number.

 

* * *

 

 

It took you a moment to realize a special muffled sound coming from your bag at the door. You barely heard it over McCree’s gasps as your hand cupped him through the thin lining of his boxers. You were on the offensive then, still beneath him but with much more control.

You pressed your palm against his engorged length, taking in the sweet succor of hearing him pant your name against your delicate skin. He drew a happy sigh out of you as his teeth sank onto your naked chest, playfully avoiding your sensitivity for the time being.

You never get your chance to explore the depths of your teasing exchange as the buzzing from your bag becomes unbearable. Your cowboy was actually first to notice.

“Shit,” He breathed, gasping for air as he lifted himself from your chest, “what in blazes is that?”

“Huh?” You’re equally dumbfounded at the sudden loss of his touch.

“You hear tha’ buzzin’?” He clicks his tongue as he looks over his shoulder.

You both lay still, a growing fear turning knots in your stomach. Were you… forgetting something?

The rhythm of the buzz drains the color of your face. You realize that it was not only your phone, but a very special and ornery caller.

“Fuck! Reyes?!” You sputter, absolutely baffled. McCree blinks, equally dumbfounded as you manage to push him off you. You scramble, topless, to your bag and hurriedly taking your phone out. Your captain’s lovely picture flashed on your screen.

“The hell does he want, this time o’ night?” McCree groaned, shifting from his side to lay on his back, hands moving up to cover his face.

Did his captain have bugs in his room? Dread seeped into his head; you were off limits, was he found out?

You manage to catch the call in time—much to McCree’s dismay. The cowboy glances up at you with a soured expression as he signals you to hush. You’re not quite sure how to take it—but you were inclined to be discreet as you make a frantic gesture back at your ‘could’ve seriously just been’ lover.

“C-Captain!” You cry out, trying to catch your breath, “I’m so sorry I missed your call! Uh— “

“Cassidy,” Reyes’ voice cut through the silence of the room with ease, as he was often able to do. Even McCree cringed; be it out of fear or disdain, you couldn’t tell, “Where are you? I’m outside your quarters. Was trying to reach you.”

“O-oh! Oh, sh-… um…” You blink as you turn to look away from McCree, “I’ll um… I was out at the range, need me to come meet you?”

“I do, actually. It’s about Gerard.” Your tone made the captain raise his brow. You weren’t the worst liar in the world, but you were never able to fool Reyes. He wondered what the hell you were up to, “did I catch you at a bad time? I can come meet you at the range instead.”

“No!” You cry out too quickly, making even McCree’s eyes wide with concern. You do your best to recover, but it’s too late, “I’ll be right over!”

You hang up quickly and look to McCree with a mixture of frustration, sadness, and lingering lust.

“I...” You swallow your words.

“Fuck, I know…” McCree closed his eyes and let his head collapse back into a pillow.

“I’m sorry.” You meekly murmur.

“I know…”

“I have to…”

“Jus’ go.” His growl wasn’t the kindest then, and you felt a dreadful ache churn from the bottom of your stomach. The man on the bed covered his face with his arm and you were left with a view of his magnificent chest along with his evident desire to continue.

He sounded angry, yes, but as much as the anger may have seemed directed at you—he was just massively cockblocked by his boss.

It felt nothing short of karmic retribution for chasing you… especially when Reyes commanded that you were off limits.

You sighed, resolving to… maybe fix this later. You were beyond remorseful as you rounded the bed to grab your shirt. In your hurry, you left your bra on his bed and as you were about to pull away, McCree gripped you by the wrist.

“We ain’t done yet, you hear?” He grumbled as he gave you the same predatory look from before. It momentarily stunned you and made you forget that you were in a load of trouble with your commanding officer.

You barely manage a nod before you slipped from his grasp and headed to the door.

“I’m sorry, Jesse.” You replied softly as you passed through his threshold. The two of you exchanged longing gazes before you bolted out. You didn’t even realize you forgot everything but the clothes on your back.

McCree was left with the silence of your absence, breathing raggedly as his thoughts wandered over how fucking _good_ it felt to touch you…

You two were so close.

 

* * *

 

 

Reyes looked down at his phone, scowling before he pocketed the device and turned towards the stairs. He had no idea why you sounded so panicked but you must’ve been at the range—so was going to pay you a visit there.

Your face slammed against his chest as you rounded the corner from the stairs, catching an eyeful of dark skin and cloth as you stumbled backwards.

“Captain!” You nearly tipped backwards before Reyes managed to snatch your hand, keeping you steady.

“Chingado, Cassidy. ¿Dónde fuiste?”

You took a second to catch your breath. McCree’s room was a good distance from yours with a few flights of stairs to boot.

“I… range.” You gasp, slowly bringing yourself to stand straight, “I apologize, Captain—I had no idea you were calling. I’m so sorry!”

Your apologies fell on deaf ears, his concentration broke as his eyes wandered over you…and how you were clearly missing a bra and still… quite excited.

 _Where the hell did you come from_?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading--first composition overall. Would love your input <3! ^^ hope you like it, though!
> 
> Please, do leave a comment. I love hearing what you guys think and I am definitely open to constructive criticism. I hope I'm doing your favorite characters justice, if not--let me know what I can do better :)


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